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THE    ELF-ERRANT 


THE    ELF-ERRANT    BY 

MOIRA  O'NEILL    ILLUSTRATED 
BY  W.  E.  F.  BRITTEN 


NEW  YORK 
DODD,   MEAD   AND   COMPANY 

LONDON 
LAWRENCE  AND  BULLEN 

MDCCCXCV 


o 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I 


GREEN   AND   RED 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  FOXGLOVE   CAMP 13 

CHAPTER  III 

SEED   O'   VALOUR 22 

CHAPTER  IV 

THE  TUG   OF  WAR 33 


* o 

EDUCATION 


vi  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  V 

PAGE 
UNDER   THE  MOON 49 

CHAPTER  VI 

UP  AND   DOWN 66 

CHAPTER  VII 

AWAY  ! 84 


THE    ELF-ERRANT 


THE  ELF-ERRANT 

CHAPTER  I. 

GREEN     AND     RED. 

HE  came  over  to  Ireland  between  the  leaves  of  a 
Shakspeare,  and  to  this  day  nobody  knows  whether  his 
coming  was  a  mistake  or  not.  The  place,  however,  was 
in  "The  Tempest,"  just  at  Ariel's  song — 

Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I. 

It  was  a  very  good  place,  and  he  felt  quite  comfortable. 
In  any  other  book  he  might  have  been  crushed ;  but 
Shakspeare  never  crushes  any  living  thing,  and  besides, 
he  has  a  peculiar  tenderness  for  little  elves. 

No  sooner  was  this  Elf  set  free,  than  he  flew  straight 
out  at  the  window ;  for  he  had  a  passion  for  the  open 
air,  and  a  prejudice  against  staying  too  long  in  one 

B 


2  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

place.  He  certainly  had  a  good  many  prejudices  for 
so  small  a  creature.  The  result  of  this  one  was  that  he 
flew  straight  into  a  shower  of  rain  which  happened  to 
be  falling ;  and  that  annoyed  him.  It  was  not  that  he 
minded  being  wet,  exactly ;  he  had  been  wet  before 
now,  and  he  was  such  a  sturdy  Elf  that  it  took  a  good 
deal  to  hurt  him.  But  he  was  annoyed,  all  the  same, 
and  he  sought  for  the  nearest  shelter  that  might  be 
found. 

This  proved  to  be  a  dull  green  dockin,  which  grew  on 
the  top  of  a  garden  wall.  The  Elf  crept  under  one 
of  its  drooping  lower  leaves  and  leaned  against  its  stem 
to  wait.  On  the  other  side  of  the  dockin,  another  little  Elf 
was  sitting  dreamily,  his-  arms  folded,  observing  the 
weather.  And  this  is  how  an  English  Elf  met  an 
Irish  Elf  for  the  very  first  time. 

The  two  looked  at  each  other  and  nodded  their 
heads,  like  flowers.  Then  the  English  Elf  said — 

"  Rose  Red." 

And  the  Irish  Elf  said — 

"  Trefoil." 

They  were  not  imparting  any  particular  information ; 
they  were  only  mentioning  their  names  to  each  other. 

"  And  what  way  do  I  see  you  now  ?  "  Trefoil  added 
politely. 


Rose  Red  should  have  answered,  of  course,  "  Faith, 
just  the  way  that  I  am  ! " 

But  he  had  not  been  long  enough  in  the  country 
to  know  this  form  of  greeting.  So  he  stared  a  little  and 
asked — 

,     "  What  do   you  think  of  the  weather  ? "  just  as  he 
would  have  done  at  home. 

Trefoil  put  his  head  out  from  under  his  dockin  leaf 
and  took  an  observation.  The  long  lines  of  slanting, 
silver  rain  came  down  steadily.  They  beat  on  the 
lavenders  and  lilies  in  the  garden  ;  they  hummed  on  the 
wet  grass  behind  the  garden  wall.  He  drew  his  head  in 
again,  and  remarked  contentedly — 

"  Well,  I'm  thinking  it's  just  beginning  to  be  no  better." 

He  was  a  thoroughly  amiable  fairy  this  Trefoil,  but 
information  was  not  his  strong  point. 

"It  always  rains  in  Ireland,  I've  been  told,"  said  the 
other.  "  You  must  find  it  wretched." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Trefoil.  "  Moist  and  agreeable — 
that's  the  Irish  notion  both  for  climate  and  for  company. 
You'll  like  it  when  you're  used  to  it.  Does  it  ever  rain 
where  you  come  from  ?  " 

Now  the  English  Elf  was  nothing  if  not  truthful. 

"  Sometimes,"  he  replied,  and  shuffled  a  little  on  his 
feet. 

B  2 


4  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

He  was  not  feeling  in  the  least  at  home  under  this 
dockin,  because  in  the  leaf  which  ought  to  have 
sheltered  him  there  was  a  hole,  and  the  drip  outside 
came  through  it  down  on  his  head.  At  last  he 
mentioned  the  fact  to  Trefoil,  who  jumped  up  in  a  great 
hurry,  and  insisted  on  changing  places  with  him, 
regretting  deeply  that  he  had  not  observed  it  before. 

"  I  don't  know  what  brought  us  here  at  all,"  he 
declared.  "  Sure,  there's  no  fit  shelter  for  a  fairy  of  any 
size  on  this  old  wall.  A  friend  of  my  own,  a  snail  that 
lives  in  a  crack  under  the  north  side  of  us  this  minute, 
told  me  he  would  have  left  long  ago,  only  he  never  did 
anything  in  a  hurry.  I'm  curious  to  see  if  he's  there 
still.  He  may  have  got  overtaken  by  a  blackbird,  of 
course,  or  been  crushed  by  something  accidental  near 
the  young  salad  bed.  But  one  thing  I'm  sure  of — he 
hasn't  broken  his  neck  ! " 

Rose  Red  was  not  listening.  He  was  sitting  dejec- 
tedly in  the  place  lately  occupied  by  Trefoil,  and  in  the 
leaf  over  his  head  there  were  two  holes,  now,  dripping 
like  anything.  But  he  was  too  polite  to  mention  them 
again. 

"  I  suppose  all  the  leaves  in  this  country  are  ragged," 
he  said  to  himself.  "  Nice  prospect,  in  a  climate  where 
it's  always  raining  !  They  ought  to  do  something  about 


GREEN  AND  RED  5 

it.  But  if  all  the  fairies  are  like  this  Trefoil,  they  don't 
know  whether  they  are  wet  or  dry.  He  was  sitting 
under  this  water-spout  a  minute  ago,  and  he  didn't  even 
notice  it.  My  wings  !  " 

Just  at  that  moment  a  blackbird  close  by  opened  his 
golden  bill,  and  sang — 

"  Pipe  up,  pipe 
For  the  sun — the  sun — the  sun. 
Cheer  him  up,  cheer  him  up  ! 
Chir-o-wee  ..." 

There  was  no  rhyme  in  the  song,  but  it  really  sounded 
very  well  just  as  the  blackbird  sang  it.  However,  after 
a  minute,  he  added — 

"Pretty  sweet,  pretty  sweet?" 

in  a  dissatisfied  sort  of  way  to  some  one  out  of  sight, 
who  gave  him  no  answer.  So  he  shook  his  wings  a 
little,  gave  one  flirt  of  his  slender  black  tail,  and  dropped 
head  foremost  into  a  white-currant-bush.  At  the  end  of 
five  minutes  he  said — 

"Chuckle,  chuckle,  chuckle," 

softly  among  the  leaves.  And  when  he  emerged  from 
that  currant-bush  some  time  afterwards,  he  was  barely 
able  to  fly. 


6  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

By  that  hour  the  fairies  had  flown  far  away,  and  the 
dockin  on  the  garden  wall  stood  limp  and  dejected. 
But  it  always  remembered  to  the  end  of  its  life,  which 
was  not  a  long  one,  that  it  had  once  sheltered — for  so 
the  dockin  flattered  itself — two  live  fairies  from  a 
shower.  And  that  was  more  than  the  tallest  cactus 
dahlia  in  the  garden  could  have  ^said,  provided  it  spoke 
with  any  regard  for  truth. 

The  fairies,  however,  forgot  all  about  the  dockin 
immediately ;  for  Trefoil,  the  very  moment  the  black- 
bird began  to  sing,  darted  out,  and  called  to  Rose 
Red— 

"  Come  along — the  rain's  over.     Let's  be  flying !  " 

The  two  little  Elves  caught  each  other's  hands,  sprang 
into  the  air  and  were  gone  in  a  moment.  It  only  looked 
as  though  a  kind  of  double  butterfly  had  fluttered  over 
the  garden  wall,  one  half  rose-colour,  one  half  green. 
But  they  went  much  faster  than  a  butterfly,  or  even  than 
a  bee.  The  sun  warmed  their  wings,  and  that  made 
them  swifter  still.  They  sailed .  up  over  a  heathery 
knoll,  and  skimmed  down  the  other  side,  and  then 
they  went  zigzagging  along  the  side  of  a  stream  where 
flag-lilies  grew,  and  looked  at  themselves  in  the  water. 

Rose  Red  was  complaining  again  by  this  time.  He 
said  that  Trefoil's  way  of  flying  did  not  suit  his  own  in 


GREEN  AND  RED  7 

the  least.  He  liked  to  "fly  straight  ahead,"  and  to  lose 
no  time  in  "getting  there."  But  it  was  quite  impossible 
to  make  good  time  if  you  were  hand  in  hand  with  a  fairy 
who  indulged  in  constant  excursions  to  right  and  left  after 
nothing  in  particular,  and  every  now  and  then  did  a  wild 
bit  of  "  fancy  flying "  with  no  object  in  the  world,  as 
there  was  nobody  there  to  see  him. 

Trefoil  was  quite  surprised.  It  was  a  new  idea  to  him 
that  he  should  wait  to  find  an  excellent  reason  for  doing 
a  thing  before  he  did  it.  However,  he  replied  good- 
humouredly — 

"All  right!  let  go,  then." 

And  no  sooner  had  they  let  go  each  other's  hands, 
than  he  espied  a  drop  of  water  falling  from  a  high  branch. 
He  was  immediately  impelled  to  dive  down  after  it  and 
catch  it  before  it  should  reach  the  ground — which  he 
did.  That  is  a  creditable  feat,  even  for  a  fairy,  and  the 
English  Elf  was  quite  prepared  to  admire  it  candidly. 
But  before  he  could  open  his  lips  to  say  so,  Trefoil  was 
off  again,  and  this  time  chasing  a  little  gray-and-white 
seed  of  a  dandelion  puff,  that  had  lost  its  way,  and  was 
sailing  up  and  down,  in  great  danger  of  being  eaten  up 
shortly  by  a  green  linnet.  Trefoil  blew  it  along  with  all 
his  might,  trying  to  send  it  against  the  wind,  which  was 
clearly  impossible,  as  the  seed-vessel  was  much  too  light 


8  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

to  steer ;  and  he  sang  aloud  to  it  in  his  clear  thread  of  a 
voice — 

"  Dandy  -puff,  dandy-puff! 

Take  your  time,  and  time  enough. 

Dandy-puff,  dandy-puff! 

Don't  you  like  this  rhyme  enough  ? 

Dandy -puff,  dandy-puff!" 

He  was  so  pleased  with  his  occupation  that  it  was 
some  moments  before  the  voice  of  Rose  Red  reached  his 
ears,  saying  something  about  "an  exhibition  of  pure 
folly." 

"  Buds  and  blossoms ! "  exclaimed  Trefoil.  "  I  had 
forgotten  the  Elf.  What's  the  matter  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing  of  the  slightest  consequence,"  said  Rose 
Red  sarcastically.  "When  you  have  quite  done  with 
your  fluffs  and  your  follies,  perhaps  you  will  kindly  let  me 
know,  and  then  we  can  be  getting  on  again.  But  don't 
hurry  on  my  account.  I  shall  await  your  convenience 
here." 

And  he  folded  his  wings  and  dropped  with  absolute 
precision  on  the  crest  of  a  daisy. 

"  Dandy-puff,  dandy -puff! 
I'm  afraid  he's  in  a  huff," 

sang  Trefoil  after  his  dear  little  seedling.     But  he  let  the 
seedling  go,   and  dropped   down  immediately    to    the 


GREEN  AND  RED  9 

ground,  where  he  found  Rose  Red  standing  up  with 
great  dignity  on  the  daisy,  and  snubbing  it  because  one 
side  of  its  fringe  was  more  rosy  than  the  other.  He  said 
he  hoped  that  little  bud  beside  it  would  grow  up  in  a 
very  different  manner  !  After  that,  he  felt  better ;  and 
the  daisy,  to  tell  the  truth,  did  not  feel  a  bit  the  worse, 
for  it  was  not  a  sensitive  flower,  nor  very  easily  crushed. 

"Have  you  done  now?"  Trefoil  asked,  looking  up 
innocently  at  his  friend. 

"  Have  /  done ! "  the  English  Elf  retorted,  looking 
down  indignantly  at  Trefoil.  "  I've  done  nothing  yet, 
except  flutter  about  and  dawdle  after  you.  Three  good 
hours  of  this  day  are  gone  already,  and  I  haven 't  yet 
made  out  where  you  are  bound  for,  or  what  we  are  both 
of  us  after.  I  vow  it  takes  all  the  stiffness  out  of  one's 
wings  to  be  kept  dangling  at  a  loose  end  so.  It's  No 
fun"  he  added :  and  that  is  an  expression  of  great 
import,  which  is  common  to  the  fairies  of  all  nations. 

"  But  in  the  name  of  nonsense,  then,"  Trefoil  asked 
him,  very  seriously,  "  since  you  don't  know  where  you  are 
going — and  neither  do  I — why  are  you  in  such  a  way 
because  we  aren't  getting  there  ?  " 

"Why?— because  it's  a  wretched  waste  of  time,"  said 
the  English  Elf. 

"  Listen  to  him,"  shouted  Trefoil  to  the  world  at  large. 


io  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

"A  waste  of  time!  Why,  you've  come  to  a  country 
where  there's  no  such  thing  as  a  waste  of  time,  Fay ! 
We  have  no  value  for  time  here.  There's  lashings  of  it 
more  than  aflybody  knows  what  to  do  with.  You  couldn't 
waste  your  time  in  Ireland,  if  you  were  trying  at  it  all  day 
and  night." 

But  Rose  Red  turned  quite  pale  at  the  prospect  before 
him.  He  slipped  off  his  daisy  and  sat  on  the  ground, 
looking  decidedly  miserable.  "  I  shall  hate  it.  I  shall 
certainly  hate  the  whole  country,"  he  declared  pathetic- 
ally. "  I  never  heard  of  a  place  like  this,  where  time  is 
of  no  value.  It's  quite  unnatural.  Oh,  Trefoil,  let  us 
start  off  somewhere  instantly,  and  find  something  to  do — 
something  to  do  !  "  he  repeated  imploringly,  gazing  at  the 
Irish  Elf,  as  if  he  were  half  afraid  of  hearing  the  next 
moment  that  there  was  nothing  to  do. 

"  Ah,  be  asy  now,"  said  Trefoil  soothingly ;  "  and  if 
you  can't  be  asy,  be  as  asy  as  you  can  !  We'll  do  any- 
thing you  like.  What's  to  hinder  us?  I'll  fight  you 
with  pleasure,  if  you  think  you'd  feel  any  better 
for  it." 

"  What  about  ?  "  cried  Rose  Red  eagerly. 

"What  about?  what  about?"  murmured  Trefoil. 
"  I'm  bothered  if  I  know.  Sure,  anything  will  do. 
Good  friends  needn't  be  too  particular." 


GREEN  AND  RED  II 

"  But  if  we  haven't  any  reason  to  fight,  there's  no 
sense  in  it,"  said  Rose  Red,  beginning  to  despond 
again. 

"  I  declare  I  never  saw  such  an  Elf  as  you,"  Trefoil 
cried.  "Nothing  will  satisfy  you.  It's  most  unreason- 
able to  be  wanting  sense  in  things  that  haven't  got  any. 
Can't  you  be  a  little  reasonable  ?  I  think  you're  about 
as  bad  as  a  Bee." 

Rose  Red  only  gasped.  This  kind  of  language 
addressed  to  an  English  Elf  for  the  first  time  is  apt  to 
turn  him  a  trifle  giddy.  And  when  Trefoil  began  to 
throw  somersaults  very  fast  over  a  leaf  and  back  again 
he  shut  his  eyes  for  a  moment  to  recover  himself. 
Trefoil  had  been  struck  by  an  idea,  and  this  was  how.it 
always  took  him. 

"  As  bad  as  a  Bee,"  he  cried ;  "  but  that  gives  me  a 
notion.  "  I'll  take  you  to  the  seat  of  war,  my  fine  fay  ! 
and  you  may  help  us  to  fight  the  Bees.  That  will  give 
you  something  to  do,  I  fancy ;  and  if  you  don't  find 
sense  enough  and  over  in  it,  it's  a  pity." 

"  Come  on,  come  on  !  I'm  your  fay,"  cried  Rose 
Red,  jumping  to  his  feet  and  fluttering  his  wings  in  a 
frenzy  of  impatience  to  be  gone. 

"  All  right,  we're  going,"  said  Trefoil,  who  was  also 
deeply  excited. 


12  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

But  first  he  hurried  over  to  the  other  side  of  the  daisy, 
where  the  daisy-bud  grew.  It  was  a  tight,  little,  round 
green  bud,  with  just  a  speck  of  crimson  visible;  and 
Trefoil  kissed  it  carefully.  Now  if  any  flower-bud 
before  it  opens  has  the  luck  to  be  kissed  by  a  fairy, 
that  flower  is  safe  from  being  pecked  or  injured  by  bird 
or  beetle  for  the  rest  of  its  natural  life.  This  the  daisy- 
bud  was  too  young  to  know;  but  the  full-blown  daisy 
knew  it  perfectly  well,  and  shed  a  petal  for  pure  emotion  at 
the  sight.  Trefoil  had  gone  before  it  fell,  so  he  didn't 
see  it. 

He  was  in  a  desperate  hurry  now.  He  had  Rose  Red 
by  the  hand  again ;  and,  judging  by  the  resolute  way 
they  were  both  flying  along,  heads  down  against  the  wind, 
you  could  not  have  told  which  was  the  most  in  earnest 
about  "  getting  there,"  the  Green  Fairy  or  the  Red. 

Rose  Red  only  put  a  single  question  on  the  way. 

"  Where  ?  "  he  asked  briefly. 

And  Trefoil  told  him— 

"  To  the  «  Foxglove  Camp.' " 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   FOXGLOVE   CAMP. 

THE  Foxglove  Camp  was  on  a  hill  slope  just  below  a 
wood  of  birch  and  ash,  and  glistening  holly. 

The  place  is  known  to  a  great  many  Fairies  now, 
since  Lara,  the  chief  of  Glen  Cloy,  came  there  one 
night,  before  his  luck  was  broken,  and  learnt  how  to  win 
back  his  bride,  whom  a  Fairy  King  had  hidden  in  the 
heart  of  Tievara.  But  that  was  a  very  long  time  ago, 
and  only  the  Fairies  remember  it.  Nothing  is  changed 
in  the  place,  however,  since  Lara  and  Ailish  were  lovers. 
The  trees  throw  their  long  shadows  down  from  the  edge 
of  the  wood  over  the  grass  and  the  gray  rocks  scattered 
together  below  ;  and  everywhere  tall  Foxgloves  grow,  and 
rear  up  their  spires  of  red  bells,  a  double  line  on  each 
stalk.  They  grow  in  ranks  upon  ranks,  hundreds  of 
green  Foxgloves  with  thousands  of  red  bells  ;  and  when 


14  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

the  breeze  blows  softly,  they  sway  a  little  and  swing  all 
one  way,  like  pines  before  a  gale,  but  noiselessly. 

The  Foxglove  Fairies  live  inside  the  flowers,  when 
they  are  at  home.  For  this  reason  each  red  bell  is  most 
carefully  hung,  is  lined  with  something  softer  than  felt, 
and  freckled  all  over  inside  in  the  most  fascinating 
manner.  It  gives  quite  the  impression  of  being  in  a 
palace,  when  you  have  so  many  important  Beings  living 
one  over  another,  as  you  find  on  a  Foxglove  stem.  The 
Foxglove  Fairies  are  immensely  proud  of  their  homes, 
and  often  declare  that  they  cannot  for  their  wings 
imagine  what  leads  the  Bluebell  Fairies  to  prefer  their 
own  abodes,  so  blue  and  dim  and  narrow  as  these  must 
be,  and  then — owing  to  their  shape — so  unprotected  ! 

But  the  Bluebell  Fairies  have  no  enemies,  so  they  do 
not  care.  They  have  no  ambitions,  no  grievances,  and 
very  little  energy.  They  are  dreamy  little  creatures,  but 
lovely  to  see. 

Now  the  Foxglove  Fairies  have  enemies,  for  they  have 
a  life-long  feud  with  the  Bees  :  and  this  feud  is  their  joy 
and  pride,  and  the  principal  occupation  of  their  lives. 
If  anything  were  to  end  it,  no  one  can  guess  how  miser- 
able they  would  be  ;  but  nothing  is  likely  to  end  it.  As 
for  what  began  it,  if  you  can  tell  what  began  the  trouble 
between  the  east  wind  and  the  ladybirds,  you  can  tell 


THE  FOXGLOVE  CAMP  15 

that,  too.  It  began  just  when  Bees  and  Fairies  found 
themselves  with  their  opposite  instincts  in  the  same 
world :  and  that  was  long  enough  before  the  beginning 
of  history,  at  any  rate. 

The  Bees  wanted  honey — were  always  wanting  honey. 
The  Fairies,  who  had  a  sublime  indifference  to  honey  on 
their  own  account,  at  first  paid  no  great  attention,  and  let 
the  Bees  come  to  their  Foxglove  bells  for  honey,  as  often 
as  they  wanted  to.  But  the  Bees,  as  they  increased  in 
substance,  rather  declined  in  good  manners  ;  as  tactless 
creatures,  afflicted  with  one  idea,  are  apt  to  do.  They 
began  to  come  too  often,  and  so  made  themselves  a 
nuisance. 

Especially  they  gave  offence  by  entering  at  Foxglove 
doors  when  the  Fairy  owners  were  asleep,  and  disturbing 
them.  Nothing  can  be  Grosser  than  a  Fairy  disturbed 
in  his  sleep,  and  so  the  Bees  found  out. 

"  The  idea  of  being  woken  up  at  broad  noon,  to  find 
a  great  Bee  with  his  hairy  black  legs,  crawling  about  in 
the  bell  for  honey,  and  rumpling  the  whole  place !  I 
protest !  "  exclaimed  Freak,  a  Fairy  of  great  character. 

When  Freak  protested,  a  number  of  other  Fairies 
generally  protested  after  him  in  chorus,  and  amongst 
them  this  time  were  Freckle  and  Starlight  and  Speck. 
They  remonstrated  openly  with  the  Bees,  but  they  did 


16  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

not  receive  in  consequence  that  graceful  apology  which 
the  occasion  seemed  to  demand. 

The  Bees  merely  remarked  that  their  habit  was  to 
work  by  day  and  sleep  by  night ;  a  habit  which  all  nature 
must  approve,  and  which  they  strongly  recommended 
the  Fairies  to  acquire. 

There  was  an  air  of  conscious  superiority  about  this 
reply  that  was  irritating  to  a  high  degree.  For  Fairies, 
as  every  one  knows,  do  no  work  at  all,  but  they  are  very 
frequently  up  all  night  and  busy  about  their  own  affairs, 
especially  if  there  is  moonlight  abroad.  So  they 
naturally  require  to  sleep  by  daylight,  and,  in  fact,  their 
favourite  hour  for  a  siesta  is  broad  noon.  It  will  be 
seen,  therefore,  that  the  remarks  of  the  Bees  were 
decidedly  in  bad  taste ;  and  they  were  so  deeply  resented 
by  the  Fairies,  that  Freak,  in  the  heat  of  the  moment, 
made  a  statement  which  has  never  yet  been  forgotten  by 
his  own  side,  or  forgiven  by  the  other.  It  was  to  the 
effect  that  "  a  Bee  will  do  anything  for  honey." 

This  may  be  true,  or  it  may  not.  But  without  any 
doubt  the  youngest  Fairy  of  the  present  day,  when  in 
need  of  some  injurious  reflection  to  cast  upon  his 
foe,  still  finds  it  convenient  to  revert  to  the  classical 
imputation  that  "  a  Bee  will  do  anything  for  honey." 

While  matters  were  in  this  condition,  it  was  discovered 


THE  FOXGLOVE  CAMP  17 

by  Eye-Bright,  a  Fairy  of  an  investigating  turn  of  mind, 
that  the  Bees  actually  did  not  consume  the  honey  they 
were  so  determinedly  bent  on  gathering,  but  hoarded  it 
up  in  secret  places.  This  dire  information  was  imparted 
by  Eye-Bright  without  delay  to  the  three  most  influential 
of  the  Foxglove  Fairies — Freak  and  Freckle  and  Speck ; 
who,  with  all  their  experience  in  the  ways  of  the  world, 
were  so  deeply  shocked  that  at  first  they  were  reduced 
to  hoping  helplessly  that  it  couldn't  be  true.  But  con- 
viction came  to  them  all  too  soon,  and  they  proceeded 
to  take  the  necessary  measures.  They  published  abroad1 
conclusive  proofs  of  the  horrid  avarice  of  the  Bees, 
their  slavish  methods,  and  their  open  and  unnatural 
devotion  to  honey-making.  The  secret  hoards  of  honey 
were  pointed  out  as  positive  evidence  of  their  covetous 
carefulness  about  the  future.  Fairies  were  exhorted  to 
use  all  their  influence  with  the  young,  with  opening 
flower-buds,  and  with  flying  things ;  to  cherish  in  them  a 
genial  idleness  and  trust,  and  prevent  them  from 
suffering — the  flowers,  especially — from  unavoidable 
contact  with  honey-getting  Bees.  Some  fears  were 
expressed  lest  the  Butterflies  should  be  contaminated  by 
the  example  of  the  Bees ;  but  these  proved,  happily, 
groundless.  The  Butterflies  were  incorruptibly  firm 
against  all  temptations  to  industry.  They  preserve  to 

' 


i8  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

this  very  day,  indeed,  their  perfect  fealty  to  idleness  and 
sunshine,  and  happy-go-lucky  feasts  in  "meadows 
painted  with  delight."  1 

The  next  thing  to  be  done  was  to  call  a  great  indigna- 
tion meeting  of  the  Foxglove  Fairies.  It  was  announced 
for  the  first  moonlight  night,  to  be  held  on  the  largest 
Burdock  leaf  in  the  neighbourhood.  That  was  a  huge 
leaf,  and  most  accommodating  in  shape ;  but  the  Foxglove 
Fairies  attended  in  such  numbers  that  an  overflow  meeting 
had  to  be  organised  on  the  Burdock  leaf  next  in  size 
below.  Eye-Bright  was  the  principal  speaker,  and  he 
addressed  the  meeting  standing  on  the  apex  of  an  empty 
yellow  snail-shell,  which  had  been  carried  up  all  that 
distance  for  the  purpose.  He  was  very  imperfectly  heard, 
but  he  was  thoroughly  understood.  Every  Fairy  knew  all 
that  he  had  to  say  beforehand,  and  agreed  with  it. 
Nothing  can  be  more  conducive  to  enthusiasm  than  this 
kind  of  intelligence  between  an  orator  and  his  audience. 
So  feeling  ran  very  strongly  indeed,  and  showed  itself  by 
stamping  ;  for  a  Fairy  does  not  hoot  when  he  wishes  to 
express  reprobation  of  the  absent :  he  folds  his  wings 
tightly,  and  stamps.  The  meeting  was  such  an  unqualified 

1  There  is  no  authentic  record  anywhere  of  a  provident  Butterfly. 
Even  if  a  German  were  to  discover  one,  and  to  publish  it  in  Leipzig, 
it  would  hardly  be  believed  there. 


THE  FOXGLOVE  CAMP  19 

success  in  this  way  that  the  Burdock  leaves  did  not 
thoroughly  recover  from  the  enthusiasm  of  others  all  that 
summer ;  they  suffered  from  a  kind  of  limpness  which 
was  quite  foreign  to  their  constitution.  But  next  year 
found  them  all  right  again,  and  as  stiff  as  ever. 

It  should  not  be  omitted  from  this  account  of  the 
events  which  led  to  the  great  Honey  Feud — for  it  is  the 
only  account  as  yet  written — that  the  Foxglove  Fairies 
were  really  anxious  not  to  condemn  the  Bees  unheard. 
They  knew  it  was  useless  to  invite  them  to  attend  any 
meeting  held  by  moonlight,  and,  considering  recent  pas- 
sages, it  might  even  have  been  thought  invidious  to  do 
so.  But  the  Bees  were  formally  requested  to  send  any 
delegates  they  chose,  to  explain  and  defend  their  con- 
duct before  a  committee  of  impartial  Fairies  sitting 
in  a  Kingcup;  the  whole  inquiry  to  be  conducted 
by  daylight. 

To  this  proposal  the  Bees  responded  quite  simply  and 
informally  that  they  "  were  hard  at  work,  and  hadn't  time 
to  do  anything  of  the  sort." 

And  the  Fairies,  on  receiving  their  message,  gave  way 
to  disgust  and  wrath.  One  said  that  it  was  an  admission 
of  guilt ;  another  that  it  was  a  piece  of  flat  insolence ; 
but  all  were  so  much  surprised  that  they  agreed  it  was 
exactly  what  might  have  been  expected.  Fairy  Freak, 

C    2 


20  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

however,  rose  to  the  occasion — that  is,  he  rose  to  the  top 
of  the  nearest  flower,  and  there  delivered  his  mind. 

"  Foxglove  Fairies ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  the  time  for 
speech-making  is  over  "  (here  a  little  Fairy,  innocent  of 
sarcastic  intention,  applauded) ;  "  the  time  for  action  has 
arrived"  (here  they  all  applauded).  " Bees  have  always 
been  known  as  honey-makers ;  but  now  we  know  them 
for  honey-hoarders.  They  are  avaricious — they  are  in- 
corrigible ;  they  are  despisers  of  sweet  idleness.  Shall 
we,  knowing  them  for  what  they  are,  admit  these  creatures 
any  longer  to  our  bells  and  blossoms?1  Never.  Let 
them  seek  else*vhere  for  the  only  thing  they  value — their 
honey !  There  are  other  flowers  in  the  land  ;  but  Fox- 
gloves at  least  shall  be  closed  against  them — closed  and 
defended.  Fairies,  let  us  fly  at  once  to  fortify  our  homes 
against  the  Bees  !  And  may  each  one  who  hears  me 
prepare  to  live  henceforward  as  a  defender  of  the 
FOXGLOVE  CAMP  ! " 

There  was  wild  excitement,  but  not  an  instant's  hesi- 
tation. It  was  a  great  moment  for  Freak ;  he  had 
practically  declared  the  opening  of  the  long  Honey 
Feud.  The  Fairies  rose  on  their  wings,  and  flew  round 
and  round  him  in  a  circle,  and  the  scarlet  Pimpernel 
beneath  his  feet  glowed  like  a  red  planet  of  war.  The 
1  Fairy  for  "our  hearths  and  homes." 


THE  FOXGLOVE  CAMP  21 

next  moment  they  were  all  gone — flown  to  the  Foxglove 

Camp. 

***** 

It  is  needless  to  say  how  many,  many  weeks  or  months 
had  passed  from  that  summer  day  to  this  one,  when 
Trefoil  brought  the  English  Elf  to  the  seat  of  a  Fairy 
war.  It  is  needless,  and  I  do  not  deny  that  it  would  be 
difficult  also.  For  Fairy  chronology  is  so  simple  that  it 
is  mortally  hard  to  understand  ;  while  its  own  compilers 
say  its  chief  beauty  is  that  you  need  hardly  ever  refer  to 
it.  But  it  was,  in  any  case,  a  very  long  time  indeed,  so 
long  that  you  might  suppose  any  quarrel  would  be  over 
and  done  with  by  that  time.  Which  would  prove  that 
you  knew  nothing  at  all  of  how  things  can  last  in  Ireland, 
when  the  climate  suits  them. 


CHAPTER    III. 

SEED   O'   VALOUR. 

TREFOIL  and  Rose  Red  flew  into  the  Foxglove  Camp 
at  an  early  hour  of  the  afternoon,  when  the  light  was 
strong,  the  wind  was  laid,  and  the  Foxgloves  stood  as 
steady  as  the  rocks  beside  them. 

Rose  Red  was  impressed  by  the  sight  of  so  many  tall, 
fine  flowers,  for  he  knew  that  each  flower  was  a  fort,  and 
he  admired  the  red  dazzle  of  colour,  as  Trefoil  flew  in 
and  out — in  and  out  amongst  them.  Everything  that 
belonged  to  the  art  of  war  had  a  deep  interest  in  it  for 
the  English  Elf,  and  just  now  he  was  going  to  have  a 
hand  in  the  fighting ;  so  for  the  first  time  since  his  land- 
ing in  Ireland,  he  realised  plainly  what  he  was  about.  It 
made  him  keenly  happy,  and  he  felt  like  a  brother  to 
Trefoil. 

That  erratic  fay,  after  skimming  about  like  a  streak  of 


SEED  O'  VALOUR  23 

light  from  one  tall  stem  to  another,  made  a  sudden  dart 
inside  a  Foxglove  bell,  and  drew  Rose  Red  in  after  him. 
There  stood  one  gallant  defender  of  the  fort,  leaning  on 
his  spear,  which  was  made  of  a  long  whin-prickle,  stiff 
and  sharp — a  gruesome  weapon. 

"  More  power  to  your  elbow,  Seed  o'  Valour !  "  cried 
Trefoil,  as  he  fluttered  in. 

"Is  that  yourself,  Trefoil?"  said  the  spear-bearer 
cordially. 

"  It  is  then,  and  more  too.  Here's  an  English  Elf,  by 
the  name  of  Rose  Red,  that  has  found  himself  on  the 
right  side  of  the  Channel — saving  his  presence — more  by 
good  luck  than  good  guidance,  I  doubt." 

"He's  welcome,  anyway,"  said  Seed  o'  Valour,  who 
thought  he  recognised  a  kindred  spirit  in  this  visitor. 

"  And  he's  just  spoiling  for  a  fight,"  added  Trefoil,  as 
a  touch  of  irresistible  attraction. 

"He's  come  in  time,  then,"  cried  the  valiant  one. 
"  We're  to  have  a  field-day  with  the  Bees  before  the  sun 
goes  down." 

"  So  I  judged,  from  the  look  of  the  camp  as  we  came 
in,"  said  Trefoil,  with  his  knowing  air.  "  Every  bud  on 
duty!  Well,  here  we  part  company  for  the  present. 
Three  in  a  bell  would  spoil  the  fun.  Tell  us  who's  in 
want  of  an  ally  for  the  day,  Seed  o'  Valour  ?  " 


24  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

"  Let's  see ;  let's  see,  then.  There's  Wary  near  at  hand. 
No.  Hold  on  !  There's  Fly-by-Night ;  he's  all  alone." 

"  I'm  his  fay,  then,"  and  Trefoil  was  half  out  of  the 
bell  at  the  word.  "  Where  ?  "  he  called  back,  as  he  took 
to  his  wings. 

"  West  of  these  lines,  south  of  the  ferny  rock,"  Seed  o' 
Valour  shouted  after  him. 

Then  he  turned  back  to  Rose  Red,  who  all  this  while 
had  not  spoken  one  word. 

"  Have  you  had  any  experience  with  Bees  ?  "  the  Irish 
Elf  inquired  cheerfully,  resuming  his  spear  and  his 
martial  attitude. 

"No — not  of  this  kind.  We  have  no  quarrel  with 
Bees  where  I  come  from,"  the  English  Elf  replied. 

"  No  ?  They  don't  make  honey  there,  I  suppose  ?  " 
said  Seed  o'  Valour  reflectively. 

"Yes,  they  do.  But  we  have  no  objection  to  their 
making  honey,"  said  the  other. 

This  was  puzzling  for  both. 

"  You  belong  to  the  great  Rose  tribe,  I  understand," 
said  Seed  o'  Valour  deferentially. 

"  The  Red  Rose,"  said  the  English  Elf. 

Then  they  bowed  to  each  other,  and  it  was  charming 
to  see  those  fairy  bows.  One  was  so  dignified,  and  one 
so  debonair. 


SEED  O'  VALOUR  25 

"  Well,  now,  as  a  matter  of  curiosity,  supposing  a  lot 
of  brown  Ants  were  to  come  in  their  hundreds  and  raise 
an  ant-heap  at  the  very  foot  of  your  parent  stem,  what 
should  you  do  ?  "  inquired  Seed  o'  Valour  earnestly. 

"  Let  them  alone,"  said  Rose  Red. 

After  which  there  was  a  pause. 

"I  know  that  Wood-spiders  cannot  be  considered 
interesting,  from  an  enemy's  point  of  view,"  remarked 
Seed  o'  Valour.  "They  have  no  stings,  and  they  are 
intrusive,  but  not  really  spirited."  The  tone  of  his  voice 
was  calmly  judicial.  "  Still, 'if  you  had  no  better  enemies 
convenient,  and  if  you  wanted  to  keep  your  hand  in, 
why — Jiave  you,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  ever  engaged  with 
Wood-spiders  ?  " 

"  Never,"  said  Rose  Red. 

There  was  another  pause. 

"  Well,  I'm  bothered ! "  cried  the  Irish  Elf  at  last, 
aloud.  "I  can  answer  for  it  that  I  know  a  soldier's  face 
when  I  see  it,  and  you  have  that  face,  and  yet  you  have 
never  fought  with  Bees  or  Ants  or  even  Wood-spiders. 
How  do  you  account  for  it  ?  " 

"  In  England  there  have  been  no  civil  broils  for  longer 
than  any  one  can  remember,"  Rose  Red  explained. 
"  If  any  fay  is  absolutely  bent  on  fighting,  he  must  go 
abroad  for  it.  And  yet,"  he  added  slowly,  "  it  could  not 


26  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

have  been  always  so ;  for  there  is  a  tradition  that  some 
of  our  race But  never  mind  that ! " 

"  They  were  fighters,  I'll  be  sworn  on  the  Rainbow !  " 
cried  Seed  o'  Valour  excitedly.  "  I  knew  it." 

"  Oh,  it's  only  a  tradition,"  said  Rose  Red  again. 

He  told  it  reluctantly ;  for  if  he  had  a  stronger  feeling 
than  his  love  of  the  precise  truth,  it  was  his  dislike  to  the 
merest  shadow  of  a  boast.  But  the  Irish  Elf  was  burning 
to  know. 

"Why,  they  say"  he  admitted,  "that  some  of  our 
race l  a  long  time  ago  had  their  commissions  from  a  Fairy 
Queen  to  fight  Bats  for  their  wings,  and  to  skirmish  with 
Owls  at  night.  It's  only  a  tradition,  though ;  I  can't 
positively " 

"To  fight  Bats  !  Bats"  repeated  Seed  o'  Valour,  with 
mingled  awe  and  delight,  "why,  there's  nothing  living 

1  Fortunately  there  is  the  very  highest  authority  for  the  tradition 
of  which  Rose  Red  was  but  vaguely  aware. 

"  Titania.     Come,  now  a  roundel,  and  a  fairy  song  ; 
Then,  for  the  third  part  of  a  minute,  hence ; 
Some,  to  kill  cankers  in  the  musk-rose  buds  ; 
Some,  war  with  rere-micefor  their  leathern  -wings, 
To  make  my  small  elves  coals  ;  and  some,  keep  back 
The  clamorous  owl,  that  nightly  hoots,  and  wonders 
At  our  quaint  spirits" 

A  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  Act  II.  Scene  iii. 


SEED  O'  VALOUR  27 

wickeder  than  a  Bat !  Just  look  at  the  size  of  them  ! — 
and  they  bite  like  fiends.  "  As  wicked  as  a  Bat,"  is  a 
proverb  with  us.  Sure,  what  a  race  they  must  have 
been,  those  people  of  your  own  !  Always  come  of  a 
fighting  race,  when  you  get  your  choice,  I  say,  and  then 
you'll  never  repent  it.  Look  now,  fay ;  you  must  have 
inherited  some  traditions  of  their  mode  of  attack  and 
defence,  and  so  on.  Now  if  you  '11  undertake  to  lead  a 
campaign  against  the  Bats,  I'll  serve  under  you  with 
pleasure ;  amongst  the  Foxglove  Fairies  alone  we  could 
enlist  several  companies  in  an  hour  and  then " 

"But  I  wouldn't  undertake  anything  of  the  sort,"  said 
Rose  Red  firmly.  "I  don't  know  anything  about  it. 
Remember,  I  told  you  it  was  only  a  tradition  of  long 
ago.  And  there  is  nothing  to  prove  that  our  people  ever 
got  the  better  of  the  Bats,"  he  added  scrupulously. 
"  Perhaps  they  didn't." 

"  What  about  that  ?  "  said  Seed  o'  Valour  scornfully. 
"They  fought  them." 

"There  was  probably  no  sense  in  it,"  Red  Rose 
objected. 

"  There  must  have  been  splendid  fun  in  it,"  Seed  o' 
Valour  insisted. 

"  Well,  don't  let  us  make  fools  of  ourselves  following 
their  example,  anyway,"  said  the  English  Elf. 


28  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

"  I  wish  I  just  saw  my  way  to  a  chance  of  it,"  said  the 
Irish  one.  He  sighed  deeply. 

The  number  of  brilliant  and  highly  dangerous  schemes 
for  the  acquisition  of  fun  and  fame,  over  which  this 
Fairy  had  sighed  and  resigned  himself,  were  now  past 
counting.  It  was  extraordinary  how  obstinately  other 
Fairies  would  refuse  to  join  in  the  plans  he  was 
never  weary  of  laying  before  them — plans  in  which,  as 
he  constantly  pointed  out,  the  main  thing,  diversion,  was 
a  certainty,  the  only  risk  was  to  life  and  limb.  No 
wonder  he  sighed  often. 

Rose  Red,  who  had  not  succeeded  in  extracting  much 
"  sense  "  out  of  Trefoil  that  morning,  felt  a  strong  per- 
suasion that  he  would  not  find  much  more  in  Seed  o' 
Valour.  It  was  evident  that  the  excitable  Elf  was  much 
depressed.  He  sat  down  in  a  desponding  way,  laid  his 
spear  across  his  knees,  bent  his  pretty  head  on  his  hands, 
and  was  silent. 

Rose  Red  devoted  himself  to  examining  the  Foxglove 
bell.  At  one  end  he  seemed  in  a  kind  of  crimson  dusk,  at 
the  other  end  he  was  attracted  by  the  rich,  soft  mottling  laid 
over  the  colour.  There  was  plenty  of  air  in  the  bell,  but 
it  was  shady  in  there,  and,  though  he  repelled  the  idea 
at  first,  it  recurred  to  him  with  conviction  that  it  was 
sleepy  in  there,  too.  He  knew  he  was  on  guard  against 


SEED  O'  VALOUR  29 

an  enemy,  therefore  he  could  not  be  really  sleepy ;  yet 
he  was.  And  this  reasoning  proved  it ;  he  shook  him- 
self, and  determined  to  talk. 

"Seed  o'  Valour,"  he  began,  "shall  I  relieve  your 
watch  at  the  mouth  of  the  bell  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  watching,"  said  Seed  o'  Valour,  after  a  pause, 
without  lifting  his  head  ;  and  it  was  evident  that  he  was 
not. 

"I  thought  we  were  expecting  the  enemy,"  said  the 
English  Elf. 

"Enemy? — the  Bees? — so  we  are,"  Seed  o'  Valour, 
repeated  drowsily. 

He  shook  himself,  too ;  he  was  evidently  as  sleepy  as 
he  could  be. 

"How  do  we  know  when  they  are  coming?"  Rose 
Red  demanded,  with  energy. 

"If  you're  awake,  you  hear  them  buzz;  if  you're 
asleep,  you  don't "  Seed  o'  Valour  explained,  with  perfect 
frankness. 

"  What  on  earth  makes  us  both  so  sleepy  ?  "  Rose  Red 
asked  him. 

"  It's  because  we're  in  a  Foxglove  bell.  It's  always 
deadly  sleepy  in  here,  unless  one  has  something  par- 
ticular to  do.  That's  how  the  Bees  get  the  better  of  us, 
when  they  catch  us  asleep." 


30  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

"Do  they ?"  Rose  Red  began,  and  hesitated. 

"  Often,"  said  the  other  calmly. 

"My  wings,"  ejaculated  the  English  Elf,  "what  a 
nuisance  this  sleepiness  is  ! " 

"Not  a  bit,"  said  Seed  o'  Valour.  "Sure,  you  can't 
be  better  off  than  sleeping,  unless  you're  awake." 

"And  if  you're  awake  when  a  Bee  comes  in,  then " 

"  Then  begins  the  tug  o'  war." 

"  And  you  put  him  out  ?  " 

"  T/iat,  as  you  may  say  in  a  manner  of  speaking,  is 
just  as  it  may  be." 

"  Well — ah !  what  sort  of  Bees  give  you  the  most 
trouble  ?  " 

"  There  are  only  two  sorts  of  bees,"  Seed  o'  Valour 
declared,  speaking  with  all  the  assurance  of  a  lecturer 
on  scientific  classification.  "  There  are  the  Bumble-bees, 
which  have  no  stings,  and  the  Others,  which  have.  You 
can  tell  when  a  Bumble-bee  comes  within  a  mile  of  you 
by  the  noise  he  makes.  Whizz-z-z — Buzz  !  Sometimes 
it  sounds  as  if  he  blew  a  trumpet  in  front  of  him.  Tra-la-la  ! 
He  can't  help  it,  you  know  ;  it's  the  way  his  wings  annoy 
the  air.  But  it  prevents  him  from  approaching  with  any 
sort  of  stratagem,  of  course ;  you  could  hear  him,  at 
this  moment,  if  he  were  in  the  third  bell  overhead. 
When  he  effects  an  entrance  it's  by  sheer  force ;  and 


SEED  O'  VALOUR  31 

though  he  has  no  sting,  his  strength  makes  him  formid- 
able, once  inside  the  bell  :  for  there  is  no  Bee  as 
strong  as  a  Bumble-bee.  If  he  gets  on  top  of  you,  you're 
crumpled  to  a  helpless  heap,  and  he  makes  off  with  the 
honey.  You  see,  it's  just  a  case  of  hard  tussling  with  a 
Bumble-bee  ;  but  if  one  of  the  Others  gets  in,  it's  a  fight. 
By  the  same  token,  Fay,  you  haven't  got  the  sign  of  a 
weapon  on  you  !  What  on  earth  have  I  been  dreaming 
of  all  this  time  ?  "  And  Seed  o'  Valour  sprang  to  his 
feet,  blushing  deeply. 

"  I'll  get  you  one  this  instant,"  he  exclaimed  ;  "  for  I 
laid  up  a  whole  stock  of  whin-spears  at  the  foot  of  this 
Foxglove." 

And  he  dropped  to  the  ground  from  the  lip  of  the 
bell,  as  lightly  as  a  spark  of  dew. 

"  By  the  whole  of  the  Rainbow  !  "  he  exclaimed,  re- 
appearing in  a  rage,  "  if  the  villains  of  Fairies  haven't 
been  helping  themselves  from  my  pile,  and  not  a  weapon 
have  they  left  behind  them  but  one  scandalous,  old  blunt 
thorn  that  wouldn't  prick  a  midge !  Thieves  of  the 
world  that  they  are,  why  couldn't  they  go  and  forage  for 
themselves  ?  "  he  demanded  fiercely. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  Rose  Red. 

"  You  don't  ?  Well,  don't  talk  to  me,  then  !  Mother- 
o'-fortune!-isn't-it-a-scandalous-thing-that-the-Foxglove- 


32  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

Camp  -  should  -be  -in -that  -through -other-condition-that-if- 
on\y-a.-\itile-sh'eveen-  of-  a -scout -brings -in -word- of- the- 
enemy's-coming-it-sets-the-soldiers-to-stealing-weapons-for. 
themselves-in-the-light-of-day-and-the-face-of-discipline?- 
Is-  there  -  another-  camp  -  in  -  Ireland  -  where  -  you'd  -  hear-  the- 
like-of-such-carryings-on  ?-/V-there-now  ?  "  he  inquired, 
stamping  his  foot  at  Rose  Red. 

"Not  that  I  know  of,"  answered  the  English  Elf 
slowly,  lost  in  wonder  at  the  length  of  time  one  breath 
had  held  out  in  that  fiery  little  body. 

"  Then  why  don't  you  stand  out  of  my  road,  and  leave 
me  room  to  be  gone,  if  you  know  so  much  ?  Sure,  I'll 
have  to  fly  clean  away  over  the  hill,  and  down  the  other 
side  where  the  Whin  grows,  before  I  can  get  so  much 
as  a  seasoned  prickle  to  make  a  pike  for  you  ! " 

"  Don't  do  anything  of  the  sort,"  urged  Rose  Red. 
"It's  absurd.  Why,  I  don't  even  know  the  use  of  a 
pike!" 

"  Nor  you  won't  either,  till  you  get  one,"  Seed  o' 
Valour  told  him.  "  There,  I've  left  my  spear  for  you. 
Be  asy  now,  till  I  come  back.  Only  remember  not  to  be 
forgetting  that  you're  on  guard  !  " 

The  last  words  came  faintly  back,  for  Seed  o'  Valour 
had  flown. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  TUG   OF   WAR. 

"  MY  wings  !  "  said  Rose  Red  slowly  to  himself :  "and 
a  nice  position  it  is  for  me." 

Yet  he  seemed  not  altogether  displeased  with  his 
position  either,  and  not  in  the  least  alarmed. 

"  I  shall  make  a  fool  of  myself,  as  sure  as  nuts  are 
brown  !  "  he  calmly  prophesied  to  the  Foxglove  bell,  as 
he  walked  to  where  the  spear  was  lying ;  took  it  up,  and 
weighed  it  in  his  hand. 

His  fingers  tightened  round  it,  as  though  they  were 
accustomed  to  it.  He  swung  it  steadily  back  and  for- 
wards once  or  twice,  to  learn  its  weight ;  took  accurate 
aim  at  nothing,  and  made  a  thrust  in  the  air.  Strange 
to  say,  he  did  not  once  lose  the  weapon.  To  an 
impartial  observer  it  would  have  seemed  that  the 
English  Elf  was  not  about  to  make  a  fool  of  himself 

D 


34  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

in  this  particular  line  of  conduct.  But  he  shook  his 
head. 

"  I  hope  Seed  o'  Valour,  when  he  comes  back  to  his 
home,  may  find  all  the  honey  he  left  in  it.  But  I  doubt 
that,"  he  reflected.  "  What  an  extraordinary  Elf  he  is  ! 

Trefoil  was  distracting  enough,  but  this  one .  I 

don't  think  I  more  than  half  understand  them,  and  that's 
the  truth,"  he  admitted  with  a  wondering  candour  to 
himself. 

Then  a  thin  and  distant  sound  struck  on  his  ear  ;  a 
far-thrilling  "  Bizz-z-z." 

"  They're  coming,"  he  decided,  and  nodded  to  him- 
self, apparently  with  entire  satisfaction.  He  went  and 
stood  at  the  opening  of  the  bell,  the  spear  in  one  hand, 
the  other  curved  to  his  ear,  and  his  head  bent  down, 
listening. 

First  came  a  sound  from  one  side,  then  from  the 
other.  He  heard  them  travelling,  drawing  nearer, 
crossed  by  other  sounds  that  thickened  and  grew  louder, 
till  the  air  was  full  of  humming  and  buzzing,  and  sawn 
asunder  into  a  thousand  little  thrills  in  a  minute,  from 
the  cutting  of  innumerable  gauzy  wings.  The  Bees 
were  in  the  Camp.  They  had  entered  from  below,  and 
were  working  upwards  slowly  and  steadily,  in  increasing 
numbers  and  noise.  They  spread  through  the  ranks  of 


THE  TUG  OF  WAR  35 

the  Foxgloves,  and  one  after  another  attacked  the  tall 
stems  hung  with  their  tiers  of  bells.  Some  began  at 
the  smallest  open  flower  near  the  top,  and  buzzed 
steadily  downwards  into  bell  after  bell.  Some  began  at 
the  largest  flower  on  the  stem,  which  is  the  lowest, 
and  worked  their  way  upwards,  bell  after  bell.  The 
Bees  were  perfectly  methodical  in  their  progress.  They 
had  not  come  here  for  fun  ;  they  had  not  come  to 
exercise  their  troops ;  they  had  come  for  honey.  Honey 
was  all  they  wanted,  and  in  some  cases  more  than  they 
got. 

It  was  difficult  to  judge  exactly  what  amount  df 
success  attended  their  efforts,  for  all  this  curious  warfare 
was  carried  on  out  of  sight.  Sometimes  a  Bee  remained 
for  a  considerable  time  inside  one  bell,  occupied ;  some- 
times he  left  it  in  a  suspicious  hurry,  followed  by  nothing 
but  the  delicious  sound  of  a  fairy  laugh.  But  you  could 
infer  nothing  from  the  Bee's  demeanour  either  of  his 
triumph  or  of  his  defeat.  For  the  buzz  of  a  Bee 
expresses  but  three  things,  and  always  the  same  things  ; 
that  he  is  hot,  that  he  is  annoyed,  and  that  he  is  busy. 
Sometimes  he  is  hot  because  he  is  annoyed ;  and  some- 
times he  is  annoyed  because  he  is  hot ;  but  always  he  is 
busy,  because  he  is  a  Bee. 

Now  Rose  Red  stood  with  his  spear  in  his  hand  and 

D  2 


36  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

waited.  Those  who  know,  say  that  there  is  nothing  so 
trying  to  a  young  soldier  as  to  be  kept  waiting ;  but  this 
Elf  stood  the  test  admirably.  He  waited  a  long  time, 
for  the  flower  he  was  in  grew  on  the  higher  ground  ot 
the  Foxglove  Camp,  which  was  reached  last  of  all  by 
the  Bees.  Only  once  he  became  disturbed,  and  that 
was  when  a  sudden  breeze  swept  down  the  hill,  carrying 
away  all  sound  of  the  conflict,  so  that  he  fancied  the 
Bees  must  have  left  the  Camp  without  finding  him. 
Then,  had  it  not  been  for  Seed  o'  Valour's  last  word  to 
him — "  On  Guard  ! "  he  would  certainly  have  flown  from 
the  bell  and  sought  his  foe  on  wing.  That  would  have 
been  a  fatal  mistake;  for,  apart  from  the  fact  that  no 
Bee  ever  born  would  waste  his  precious  time  in  fighting 
any  foe  except  one  who  stood  directly  between  himself 
and  his  honey,  Rose  Red  by  abandoning  his  post  would 
have  missed  a  most  brilliant  opportunity  for  distinction, 
which  was  at  that  very  time  on  its  way  to  him. 

Another  moment,  and  he  heard  it  coming,  just  as 
Seed  o'  Valour  had  said  he  would.  A  great,  dark, 
yellow-banded  creature  hovered  outside  the  bell,  making 
the  air  spin  with  his  buzzing,  while  his  wings  quivered  so 
fast  that  they  were  invisible.  Then  he  launched  himself 
inside,  bending  all  the  crimson  bell  with  his  weight ;  the 
buzzing  ceased,  the  wings  were  laid  back  and  the  thick, 


THE  TUG  OF  WAR  37 

black  legs  began  to  crawl.  Rose  Red  gave  himself 
plenty  of  time.  The  self-possession  of  this  Elf  was 
almost  incredible ;  he  actually  observed  the  Bee  in 
detail— his  dull  eyes,  his  black-furred  body,  and  his 
brown,  gauzy  wings — before  he  made  a  single  movement 
against  him.  Then  having  retreated  to  the  farthest 
limit  of  the  bell,  he  grasped  his  spear,  bent  his  back, 
took  a  run  and  tilted  right  at  the  Bee.  So  true  was  his 
aim  that  the  astonished  Bee  found  himself  lifted  half  off 
his  legs,  and  with  a  terrible  prick  in  the  very  middle  of 
his  chest  before  he  could  have  said  "John  Lubbock." 
After  that  he  did  not  wait  a  minute,  he  retreated  with  all 
the  speed  his  legs  could  make,  and  with  nothing  else  ; 
half  falling  from  the  flower  before  he  could  find  his  wings, 
or  the  presence  of  mind  to  use  them,  and  leaving  all  the 
others  on  the  stem  unmolested,  he  buzzed  heavily  away. 
Now  this  was  no  coward,  but  an  experienced  Bumble 
Bee;  and  it  seems  to  prove  that  experience  is  not  of 
much  use  in  turning  a  soldier  out  of  a  honey-maker. 

The  inexperienced  Rose  Red,  elated  but  out  of  breath, 
leaned  against  his  flower  for  support,  with  sensations 
such  as  he  had  never  felt  before.  One  of  them  was 
across  his  shoulders,  but  another  was  in  a  different  place, 
from  which  it  would  never  be  rubbed  out. 

He  said  nothing  at   all  to  himself,  not  even  "My 


38  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

wings  ! "  But  when  he  had  finished  rubbing  his  shoul- 
der, he  picked  up  his  spear  again,  and  examined  the 
point.  It  had  neither  bent  nor  broken  off;  for  the 
weapon  was  of  Irish  make,  and  that  was  fortunate  in- 
deed for  Rose  Red,  who  was  just  about  to  want  it  more 
than  ever. 

This  time  he  had  very  little  notice.  No  long-drawn, 
droning  "  Buzz—z  !  "  was  sounded  before  the  enemy  to 
his  ears.  He  heard  but  a  single  fierce,  deep  "Humf" 
and  the  Bee  had  lit  inside  his  bell.  No  blundering 
Bumble  this.  "  One  of  the  Others " — was  all  he  had 
time  to  think,  before  he  and  the -shining-brown  slender 
invader  were  fighting  as  though  they  had  known  each 
other  all  their  lives.  There  was  no  thought  of  retreat 
in  this  Bee's  head.  At  the  very  first  prick  of  the  spear  she 
was  in  a  towering  passion,  and  a  Bee  in  a  passion,  as  all 
the  world  knows,  is  a  most  dangerous  thing  to  meet. 
Rose  Red  did  not  want  to  meet  it ;  he  wanted  the  Whin- 
prickle  to  meet  it,  and  he  was  quite  right.  But  to  this 
day,  although  he  is  a  most  accurate-minded  Fairy,  he 
finds  a  difficulty  in  giving  an  accurate  account  of 
those  forty-five  seconds  he  spent  with  an  Irish  Bee 
inside  a  Foxglove  bell.  They  were  confused,  but 
full  of  incident.  All  that  he  can  say  with  certainty 
is — 


THE  TUG  OF  WAR  39 

"  She  fought  and  I  fought.  She  had  a  sting  and  I 
had  a  spear." 

In  truth  the  strain  was  tremendous,  and  as  such  it 
was  felt,  not  only  by  the  Bee  and  the  Fairy,  but  also  by 
the  Foxglove  bell.  For  the  summer  home  which  Seed  o' 
Valour  had  chosen  to  himself  was  the  lowest  bell  on  the 
stem,  now  fully  blown,  and  since  that  last  encounter  with 
the  heavy  Bumble  Bee,  possibly  even  a  little  loose  in  its 
calyx.  It  proved  unequal  to  sustaining  any  longer  the 
tug  of  war  which  strained  the  flower  downwards — it  fell. 

Fairy,  Bee  and  bell,  came  to  the  ground  together,  and 
the  shock  of  the  catastrophe  was  so  great  that  it  stunned 
them  for  nearly  a  minute.  Winged  creatures  are 
accustomed  to  all  sorts  of  accidents  in  the  air,  but  not 
to  falling,  not  to  being  dropped  on  the  hard  ground, 
imprisoned  with  an  enemy  in  a  close  bell  which  prevents 
either  from  using  his  wings,  and  which  collapses 
impartially  upon  both,  like  a  tent  when  the  centre  pole 
has  been  knocked  down.  No  wonder  the  effect  was 
stunning. 

The  combatants,  on  recovering  their  senses,  made  a 
mutual  though  unconcerted  movement  of  avoidance. 
The  Bee  crept  out  at  the  wide  end  of  the  bell  and  flew 
away.  The  Fairy  crept  out  at  the  narrow  end,  only 
lately  apparent,  and  sat  down. 


40  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

Oh,  how  hot  he  was !  how  hot  and  exhausted  ! 

He  laid  himself  out  flat  upon  a  Sorrel-leaf — Sorrel  is 
so  cool  and  refreshing — and  shut  his  eyes.  A  little 
Butterfly  that  was  hovering  up  and  down  in  the  light, 
came  near  and  noticed  him. 

"  It  is  painful  to  see  anything  as  hot  as  that,"  thought 
the  Butterfly,  and  fanned  him  with  her  wings. 

They  were  beautiful  wings,  gray  on  one  side  and  blue 
on  the  other,  with  a  feathery  rim  to  each.  She  was  a 
small  and  dainty  butterfly.  Rose  Red  opened  his  eyes 
when  he  felt  her  near,  and  turned  his  cheek  to  her 
fanning. 

"You  must  have  been  exerting  yourself  a  great  deal 
too  much,"  the  Butterfly  said  to  him  in  her  light,  staccato 
voice,  but  not  at  all  as  if  she  cared  much. 

Rose  Red  only  turned  the  other  cheek. 

"You  shouldn't  do  it,"  she  continued  indifferently, 
fanning  on.  "  I  never  do.  If  any  one  wants  me  to 
exert  myself,  I  merely  say,  '  Isn't  one  flower  as  good  as 
another  ? '  That  is  my  motto.  What  do  you  think  of 
it?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  Rose  Red.  He  privately  thought  it 
nonsense. 

"  You  probably  don't  understand  me  quite.  But  it 
was  a  Fairy  who  taught  me  that;  only  he  sometimes 


THE  TUG  OF  WAR  4» 

put  it  another  way,  and  said,  "  What's  the  odds  as  long 
as  you're  happy?"  Now  you  can't  be  happy 
if  you  have  a  fixed  object,  and  get  hot  over  it. 
Something  may  happen  to  any  object  at  any  minute. 
But  if  you  have  dozens  of  objects  as  thick  as  Meadow- 
sweet in  a  hedge,  you  can  pursue  them  one  after 
another,  just  as  long  as  you  please.  Then,  whatever 
happens,  you  don't  care  a  bit.  That's  the  way  to  be  happy." 

"You're  a  very  pretty  little  Butterfly,"  said  Rose 
Red,  in  his  tactless  way. 

He  had  been  admiring  her  wings  as  they  opened  and 
shut,  and  not  giving  her  remarks  the  attention  which 
he  ought  to  have  known  they  deserved.  The  result  was 
that  he  lost  his  refreshment  of  a  fanning ;  for  the  little 
Butterfly  was  annoyed,  and  flew  away. 

She  knew  very  well  how  pretty  her  wings  were ;  any 
thick-headed  field-flower  could  have  told  her  as  much. 
But  from  a  live,  intelligent  Fairy,  she  had  expected  some 
notice  of  her  strength  of  intellect,  which  she  knew  was 
remarkable  for  a  Butterfly.  That  is  the  way  with  these 
pretty  creatures.  It  annoys  them  to  be  thought  only 
prettily  blue  and  gray,  when  they  want  to  prove  themselves 
intellectual  forces.  But  of  course  the  little  Butterfly  was 
inconsistent ;  instead  of  being  annoyed,  she  ought  to 
have  sought  another  object,  and  not  have  cared  a  bit. 


42  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

Meanwhile  there  came  to  Red  Rose  on  his  Sorel-leaf 
the  sound  of  a  voice  from  overhead,  and  it  cried — 

"  Mother  of  fortune  !  what  kind  of  work  is  this  ?  " 

"  Seed  o'  Valour  !  Seed  o'  Valour  !  "  called  the  English 
Elf;  "come  down  here."  ;••• 

And  Seed  o'  Valour  fluttered  down,  a  long  whin-prickle 
pointing  from  his  hand,  an  eager  inquiry  preceding  him 
through  the  air. 

"  Did  they  come  ?  Are  they  gone  ?  What  have  you 
done?" 

"  They  came,"  said  Rose  Red,  "  and  they  are  gone. 
What  I  did  I  don't  exactly  know ;  but  I'm  afraid  I've 
broken  your  spear  doing  it." 

Then  he  gave  him  a  short  account  of  what  had  passed, 
unadorned,  but  impressive.  It  was  a  plain,  unvarnished 
tale  as  ever  was  delivered,  and  its  effect  on  Seed  o' 
Valour,  therefore,  was  all  the  greater.  The  Irish  Elf 
being  eloquent  himself,  had  for  the  eloquence  of  others 
no  sort  of  value.  Deeds  were  the  only  persuasion  that 
availed  with  him,  and  now,  seeing  his  own  Foxglove  bell 
lying  on  the  ground,  growing  flatter  every  moment,  he 
was  more  than  eloquently  persuaded.  Besides  Rose  Red 
had  justified  his  own  penetration,  when  he  called  him  a 
soldier  on  the  strength  of  his  face,  and  Seed  o'  Valour 
was  not  the  Fairy  to  be  indifferent  to  that.  Even  in  the 


THE  TUG  OF  WAR  43: 

fresh  disappointment  of  having  missed  the  fight,  he  re- 
joiced all  over  that  such  an  opportunity  had  befallen  to 
distinguish  a  brilliant  recruit. 

Determined  to  make  the  most  of  it,  he  flew  off  instantly 
to  summon  his  comrades  in  arms  from  their  bell-tents  to 
come  and  see  the  ruin  of  his  own,  and  the  "  jewel  of  a 
soldier"  only  just  enlisted,  who  had  helped  to  bring  it 
down. 

They  came,  and  finding  the  ruin  in  no  way  different 
from  others  of  its  kind,  they  turned  their  attention  to 
the  soldier,  who  seemed  certainly  different  from  others  of 
his  kind,  and  was  indeed  even  more  different  than  he 
seemed.  The  deeds  of  Rose  Red,  told  by  the  tongue 
of  Seed  o'  Valour,  worked  like  a  charm  on  the  soldiers, 
and  round  about  the  pair  gathered  the  sympathetic  Fox- 
glove Fairies  in  a  circle — wishing  the  newcomer  "  Good- 
luck  ! "  "  more  power  ! "  "a  crown  to  his  name  ! "  " the 
wind  in  his  wings  ! "  and  a  number  of  other  valuable 
wishes. 

Among  the  rest  came  Trefoil,  with  Fly-by-Night,  who 
was  a  friend  of  his — a  Fairy  of  a  mysterious  disposition, 
and  lonely  habits  quite  unlike  his  own.  They  had  been 
defending  a  bell  together,  and  had  "  very  poor  fun  with 
it,"  as  Fly-by-Night  complained.  Trefoil,  however,  was 
quite  restored  to  gaiety  by  the  successes  of  Rose  Red. 

"  So  you  found  '  something  to  do '  ?  "  he  said  gleefully ; 


44  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

"  and  there's  no  denying  you  were  the  fay  to  do  it !  I 
thought  the  Foxglove  Camp  was  the  place  to  suit 
you." 

"And  I  used  to  think  it  was  the  place  to  suit  me,;' 
cried  Seed  o'  Valour,  who  had  but  just  found  leisure  to 
recollect  his  grievance;  "but  I'll  have  to  change  my 
mind,  or  it'll  have  to  change  its  ways ;  one  or  other. 
D'ye  mind  me  all,  now ! " 

"  What  is  wrong  with  the  camp,  Seed  o'  Valour  ?  "  they 
cried,  curiously. 

"Just  the  fays  that  are  in  it,  and  the  discipline  that 
isn't,"  he  replied  severely.  "  How  often  have  I  told  you 
all  that  it's  ruination  to  everything  to  leave  yourselves 
without  fresh  weapons  at  hand  in  case  of  surprise  ?  " 

"So  we  did!" 

"  Just  look  at  this  ! " 

"  Here's  a  thorn  for  you  ! " 

"  Here's  a  sword-grass ! " 

"Here's  a  whin-prickle!"  half-a-dozen  voices  cried 
together. 

"So  I  see.  A  fine  collection  of  weapons,  entirely," 
said  Seed  o'  Valour,  in  withering  tones,  "and  a  credit 
to  the  Foxglove  force.  Was  it  modesty  about  using  your 
own  judgment  that  made  you  think  you'd  all  rather  have 
thorns  of  my  choosing  ?  or  was  it  laziness  about  the  use 
of  your  own  wings,  ye  spalpeens  ?  It's  little  I'd  care, 


THE  TUG  OF  WAR  45 

though  you  took  the  lot ;  if  only  one  of  you  would  have 
had  the  feeling  to  tell  me  what  you  were  after  doing, 
so  that  I  needn't  be  flying  over  hill  and  down  dale, 
missing  all  the  fighting  and  losing  all  the  fun  because  you 
had  cleared  off  with  every  prickle  of  the  pile  as  you  did  ! " 

"  What  pile  ?  "  demanded  Trefoil. 

"  The  pile  I  had  gathered  and  stacked  under  the  old 
Foxglove  here,  as  well  they  knew,  the  spalpeens  !  " 

But  this  produced  a  chorus  of  denial  from  all  the 
Foxglove  Fairies  present,  who  declared  in  the  strongest 
language — 

"  By  the  whole  of  the  Rainbow  ! " 

"  By  the  Buds  and  Blossoms  ! " 

"  By  the  light  of  the  Moon  !  " 

"  By  the  flow  of  the  Water  !  "  that  they  would  scorn 
to  steal  their  weapons  from  a  comrade,  and  they  had  never 
touched  the  pile. 

"  Very  well,  then,"  said  Seed  o'  Valour,  rather  stag- 
gered, but  taking  refuge  in  sarcasm,  "  I  suppose  it  melted 
in  the  night." 

"  It  looks  pretty  solid  now,"  remarked  Fly-by-Night, 
who  for  the  last  few  moments  had  been  intent  on  search. 
He  dragged  aside  a  large  encumbering  leaf,  and  disclosed 
a  neat  little  stack  of  whin-prickles,  bound  together  by  a 
knotted  blade  of  grass. 


46  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

The  Fairies  raised  such  a  shout  of  laughter  that  they 
startled  a  Fly-catcher  who  was  darting  about  just  over 
their  heads,  and  made  him  miss  his  fly. 

"  More  power  to  your  elbow,  Seed  o'  Valour  !  "  they 
shouted ;  "  was  that  an  ambush  you  laid  ?  " 

"  Ah,  he  hides  them  so  well,  he  can't  find  them  him- 
self ! "  said  one. 

"  Sure,  '  head  o'  wit  drowned  the  eel,'  we  know,"  cried 
.another. 

"  Ah,  mo  bouchal,  what  ?     No  escaping  !  " 

This  was  because  Seed  o'  Valour  had  nimbly  risen  on 
his  wings  to  fly,  but  two  Fairy  friends  instantly  caught 
him,  one  by  each  wrist,  and  held  him  down,  while  the 
others  threw  themselves  on  his  pile  of  arms,  drew  out 
the  prickles,  and  drove  them  all  down  into  the  ground 
round  about  him  in  a  close  palisade. 

"There,  you  can  encamp  all  by  yourself,"  one  told 
him,  "  since  the  Foxglove  Camp  won't  suij  you  any 
longer,  by  reason  of  '  the  fays  that  are  in  it,  and  the  dis- 
cipline that  isn't.'  Oh  to  think  of  that !  " 

Here  Seed  o'  Valour  himself  gave  way  to  laughter,  and 
subsided  suddenly  on  the  ground.  His  keepers  lost  their 
hold,  but  the  prisoner  was  so  helpless  with  the  joke  that 
he  could  not  have  flown  for  his  life ;  he  only  rocked  to 
.and  fro  where  he  sat  with  peals  of  mirth. 


THE  TUG  OF  WAR  47 

Rose  Red  was  astonished  that  a  fay  who  had  made 
such  a  fool  of  himself  should  enjoy  the  fact  so  much. 
He  only  laughed  when  other  fays  made  fools  of  them- 
selves ;  had  he  done  it  himself,  it  would  have  been  a 
serious  matter  of  regret  to  him.  But  apparently  these 
Irish  fays  were  differently  constituted.  He  heard  one 
slender  crimson-coated  creature  ask  Seed  o'  Valour — 

"  Would  a  new  rule  of  discipline  teach  the  use  of  a 
pair  of  eyes  in  a  hurry  ?  " 

And  Seed  o'  Valour  only  implored  him — 

"  Ah,  be  asy  a  minute  now  !  " 

Then,  rising  to  his  feet,  he  pathetically  offered  his  com- 
rades "  a  prickle  apiece  if  they  would  just  clear  off"  now, 
and  keep  the  story  to  themselves,  not  to  make  him  the 
mock  of  the  Camp  till  next  new  moon." 

On  which  there  was  a  sudden  demolishing  of  the 
palisade,  the  Fairies  bidding  Seed  o'  Valour  observe  that 
if  they  took  to  "  weapons  of  his  choosing,"  it  was  at  his 
own  request,  and  wishing  him  "  Good  luck,  and  a 
cure  for  the  eyesight,"  as  they  fluttered  off  with  the 
spears. 

"  What  shall  we  do  now  ?  "  inquired  Rose  Red,  as  he 
watched  the  last  flutterer  down  the  hill. 

"Do? — go  to  sleep,"  replied  Seed  o'  Valour,  with  a 
tiny,  enchanting  yawn. 


48  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

"  The  bell  has  dropped,  you  know,"  said  Rose  Red 
regretfully. 

"  We  move  to  the  next  on  the  stem,  of  course,"  said 
the  Irish  Elf ;  and  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he  rose 
and  dived  in. 

The  other  followed  him,  and  could  have  believed  him- 
self in  the  very  same  bell  as  before,  had  not  this  one  been 
just  perceptibly  smaller. 

"  What  should  we  have  done  if  there  had  been  another 
Fairy  settled  here  ?  "  asked  he. 

Seed  o'  Valour  was  curling  himself  down  to  sleep  with 
his  wings  over  his  head. 

"  Put  him  out,"  he  sweetly  murmured. 


CHAPTER  V. 

UNDER   THE   MOON. 

THERE  came  a  summer  night,  warm  and   still  and 
moonshiny. 

Down  the  hill  which  mortals  in  that  country  call 
Altaneigh  the  water  in  the  burn  was  slipping,  falling, 
softly  pouring,  in  a  kind  of  melody  which  waters  sing 
only  to  a  young  summer  moon.  On  each  side  of  the 
stream  birch-trees  grew,  leaning  this  way  and  that. 
These  are  the  trees  that  never  sleep ;  in  the  middle  of 
the  night  their  silver  stems  are  gleaming.  Their  green 
thin  leaves  are  flickering  and  whispering  of  secrets,  while 
the  sycamores  sleep  heavily,  and  the  ash-trees  stir  in  a 
dream.  But  it  is  on  autumn  nights  that  the  birch-trees 
are  most  awake.  Then  they  are  all  of  silver  and  old  gold, 
instead  of  silver  and  young  green  ;  but  they  know  their 
time  is  short,  and  they  cannot  keep  their  gems.  They 

E 


SO  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

rustle  and  complain,  and  the  gold  falls  down  in  round 
yellow  zecchins,  so  bright,  so  light,  that  a  little  breeze  can 
spin  them  with  its  breath,  before  the  dark  earth  hides 
them  away.  The  birch-trees,  stooping  sadly,  cease  to 
complain.  Having  lost  all,  they  grow  silent ;  and  at  last 
fall  asleep. 

But  these  things  are  in  the  days  of  autumn.  Now  it 
is  summer  again,  and  the  birch-trees  are  in  their  gleam- 
ing silver  and  young  green.  They  have  no  belief  that 
what  has  been  will  happen  again,  and  they  whisper 
happily  beneath  the  moon,  as  if  all  their  secrets  had  not 
been  told  over  and  over  before  to-night.  The  young 
moon  is  very  serene.  Fairies  have  an  idea  that  she  has 
been  told  many  things,  and  some  of  them  sad  ones ;  but 
she  is  so  very  far  away  that  perhaps  she  does  not  listen 
much,  and  so  they  say  she  never  grows  less  bright.  To- 
night she  is  like  a  silver  boat  without  a  sail,  drifting 
across  a  dark  blue  sea.  The  golden  stars  watch  her  from 
another  sky  much  farther  off;  and  at  times  they  see  her 
almost  at  anchor  on  that  dim  depth,  and  at  times  flying 
like  a  winged  thing  among  the  shoals  and  torn  islands 
of  white  cloud  ;  but  floating  or  flying,  she  drifts  steadily 
on  towards  the  great  unrifted  cloud-rack  in  the  south, 
which  will  bury  her  deep  that  night  while  the  stars  keep 
watch. 


UNDER  THE  MOON  51 

Low  on  the  tender  grass  there  lies  a  bright,  green  ring. 
It  was  never  cut  or  planted  there  ;  it  is  the  Fairy  Ring, 
and  Fairy  feet  traced  it  when  first  they  danced  on  the 
spot  long,  long  ago,  before  even  the  beginning  of  the 
Honey  Feud.  Whatever  should  happen  to  the  spot, 
whether  it  were  dug  or  planted,  or  even  burnt,  next 
spring  the  Fairy  Ring  would  re-appear  in  the  grass,  green 
as  ever,  as  surely  as  the  Fairies  would  come  back  to 
dance  on  it.  It  depends  -on  the  season  which  Fairies 
come.  In  spring  there  are  the  pale  Primrose  Maids,  and 
the  little  shy  Sprites  from  the  Violets,  who  look  down 
gravely  and  say  sweet  things.  The  Windflower  Fairies 
too,  who  say  nothing,  but  look  more  like  angels  than 
Fairies,  they  are  so  purely  white,  with  a  rose-pale  flush  on 
their  wings.  All  these  are  the  children  amongst  the 
flowers ;  they  know  nothing  yet,  they  are  so  young  in  the 
year,  and  they  bring  the  look  of  another  world  on  their 
faces. 

The  next  Fairies  that  come  are  older,  and  merrier. 
Dainty  little  ladies  in  silver  smocks  come  flying  from  the 
Cuckoo  flowers.  They  dance  among  the  Cowslip  Lads, 
who  are  sturdy  on  their  feet,  but  can  swing  and  shake 
themselves  with  a  most  encouraging  grace. 

When  these  are  gone  there  is  a  pause  in  the  chain ; 
but  at  last,  some  starry  night  the  Bluebell  Fairies  will 

E  2 


52  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

come,  those  unexampled  beings,  full  of  music  and  of 
mystery.  They  will  not  dance  much,  but  moving  in 
their  dreamy  circle  on  the  Fairy  Ring,  they  will  sing  a 
chorus  softly  sweet,  which  only  the  Maidens  of  the  May 
are  privileged  to  hear.  Those  tender  Fairy  maidens  in 
their  pearly  white  and  pink,  come  gladly  crowding  hand 
in  hand  to  hear  the  Bluebell  music.  But  as  it  fills  their 
ears,  they  hold  each  other  tightly,  their  fresh  cheeks 
grow  pale,  and  the  night  dews  stand  in  their  eyes  like 
tears ;  for  the  singing  moves  them  strangely.  They  do 
not  speak  at  all,  but  kiss  their  hands  to  the  Bluebell 
Fairies,  who  bow  to  them  like  courtiers,  and  sighing 
gently,  pass  away  to  their  homes  in  the  shady  wood.  The 
music  is  only  on  starry  nights,  for  the  Bluebell  Fairies 
are  shy  of  the  bright  moonlight ;  they  think  the  Moon  a 
cold  and  songless  Queen,  too  splendid  to  be  sung  to. 
But  the  stars,  they  say,  were  the  first  voices  that  ever 
sang  together ;  and  so  their  far-off  twinkling  seems  to 
them  like  the  smiling  of  friends  that  know. 

And  now  we  are  at  a  night  in  midsummer,  and  the 
Fairies  from  the  midsummer  flowers  are  abroad,  most 
rich  and  sweet.  There  is  a  company  of  slim  young 
Knights  of  the  Honeysuckle,  wearing  all  manner  of 
plumes  and  pompons,  as  their  fashion  is,  for  they  are  the 
real  dandies  of  summer.  They  dress  in  satin  sweetly 


UNDER  THE  MOON  53 

scented  :  rose  and  cream-colour  of  all  shades  for  the 
Knights,  and  pale  gold  or  pure  silver  for  the  Ladies,  with 
little  crested  plumes.  Really  their  attire  is  worth  men- 
tioning, for  wherever  they  stray  it  is  admired,  and  yet 
they  never  grow  proud,  but  keep  their  graceful,  clinging 
ways,  to  the  perfection  of  sweetness.  Like  all  fays  of 
every  degree,  they  are  devoted  to  the  Forget-me-not 
Fairies,  who  live  by  the  water.  They  call  to  them,  and 
wave  them  on  to  come  and  join  the  dance,  for  these  shy 
and  silent  water-spirits  never  leave  their  homes  unless 
they  are  called.  Perhaps  that  is  what  makes  them  so 
simple  and  unchanging,  for  memory  lives  at  home.  They 
wear  the  colour  of  heaven  for  their  faithfulness,  and 
"  faithful  as  a  Forget-me-not "  has  become  a  Fairy 
proverb.  Whoever  dances  with  one  of  them  takes  care 
to  place  her  next  his  heart,  and  then  long  afterwards  he 
remembers  the  look  of  the  sky-blue  eyes,  but  that  is  all  he 
remembers,  for  they  say  very  litttle — they  only  love. 

In  Ireland  grow  more  Forget-me-nots  than  anywhere 
else.  But  in  every  country  there  grow  some,  only  they 
do  not  look  all  alike,  and  you  must  learn  to  know  them 
even  when  their  eyes  are  not  of  blue. 

Have  you  ever  met  with  the  Orchis  Fairies?  They 
are  many  and  different,  but  each  is  so  original  that  he 
seems  to  be  the  only  Orchis  Fairy  for  the  time.  It  is  a 


54  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

habit  with  the  order  to  wear  hoods;  they  sometimes 
push  them  back  and  sometimes  pull  them  forward,  and 
their  eyes  shine  out  from  under  them  when  they  make 
those  quaint  and  brief  remarks  which  amuse  the  whole 
Fairy  Ring,  while  they  look  as  grave  as  judges  them- 
selves. They  are  not  very  sociable  Fairies,  but  of  course 
they  dance  in  June,  and  the  Foxglove  Fairies  are  over- 
joyed when  they  find  them  on  the  Ring.  For  being 
gallant  and  not  witty  themselves,  they  delight  in  the 
society  of  wits. 

The  Foxglove  Fairies  had  come  in  great  force  on  this 
particular  evening,  and  they  brought  the  English  Elf 
with  them,  quite  sedately  willing.  Trefoil  and  Seed  o' 
Valour  had  taken  him  under  their  special  charge,  and 
they  were  so  assiduous  in  publishing  his  acts  of  gallantry 
that  it  amused  the  Orchis  Fairy,  Purple.  Once  Purple 
came  behind  them  suddenly,  caught  Seed  o'  Valour  by 
one  hand  and  Rose  Red  by  the  other,  and  wheeling 
them  skilfully  in  front  of  a  shining  beauty  who  was 
standing  near,  he  said — 

"  I  present  to  you  the  Seed  o'  Valour  and  the  Flower 
o'  Fame ! " 

The  beauty  smiled  at  Seed  o'  Valour,  whom  she  knew ; 
and  Rose  Red,  whom  she  did  not  know,  she  kissed  on 
the  cheek.  Then  she  flew  away  to  dance,  with  her  silver 


UNDER  THE  MOON  55 

train  shining  behind  her,  for  she  was  a  Honeysuckle 
Fairy. 

The  Irish  Fairy  maidens  were  pleased  with  the  English 
Elf,  and  they  kissed  him  each  once.  They  knew  he  was 
gallant,  for  Seed  o'  Valour  had  said  so,  and  that  is  the 
one  thing  necessary  to  please  an  Irish  maiden.  They 
liked  his  yellow  curls,  too ;  and  the  deepening  blush 
which  was  natural  to  his  complexion  they  attributed  to 
modesty. 

Rose  Red,  for  his  part,  found  them  charming,  but  just 
a  little  disconcerting,  for  they  said  such  unexpected 
things.  The  maidens  to  whom  he  was  accustomed  said 
only  things  which  you  might  guess  beforehand  they  were 
going  to  say,  and  so  you  could  have  an  answer  ready, 
and  keep  the  conversation  running  on  familiar  lines  with 
an  agreeable  sense  of  security.  But  no  fay  ever  born 
could  guess  what  an  Irish  Fairy  maid  would  say  on  any 
single  subject,  therefore  answers  to  her  remarks  have  to 
be  improvised,  and  quickly,  too,  before  she  makes  others. 
Now  the  English  Elf  did  not  improvise  readily,  so  his 
usual  agreeable  sense  of  security  was  strangely  absent 
to  night,  and  it  was  not  restored  by  the  discovery  he 
made  that  he  had  been  once  or  twice  unaccountably 
amusing  when  he  was  not  intending  it.  He  could 
almost  have  believed  that  the  Irish  Fairy  maids  were 


$6  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

laughing  at  him,  were  it  not  that  the  idea  seemed  too 
preposterous,  for  in  the  first  place  he  was  not  in  the  least 
ridiculous — that  he  knew — and  in  the  second  place,  in 
spite  of  anything  they  said  their  eyes  remained  so  soft. 
The  more  he  looked  at  their  eyes,  the  more  he  deter- 
mined not  to  do  their  dispositions  the  injustice  of 
supposing  that  they  could  be  amused  at  his  expense. 
And  yet  he  doubted. 

Plainly  it  behoved  him  to  dance  that  night  in  an  im- 
pressive manner,  and  with  his  correctest  grace,  and  here 
he  was  successful.  All  Fairies,  of  course,  can  dance 
with  each  other  as  naturally  as  they  can  speak  with  each 
other,  though  they  neither  dance  nor  speak  alike,  but 
there  are  certain  figures  both  of  speech  and  of  move- 
ment common  to  the  Fairies  of  all  nations.  For  instance, 
they  all  use  "  No  fun ! "  as  an  expression  of  hopeless 
condemnation  ;  they  all  stamp  with  both  feet  when  they 
lose  their  tiny  tempers ;  they  all  swear  "  by  the  light  of 
the  Moon  !  "  and  they  all  dance  the  Circlet  when  they 
meet  on  the  merry  Ring  at  night. 

So  Rose  Red  joined  them  in  perfect  understanding 
and  went  through  the  motions  of  the  Circlet  with  a 
feeling  of  being  entirely  at  home,  such  as  he  had  not 
experienced  since  he  flew  from  between  the  leaves  of 
that  Shakespeare.     It  was  a  very  pretty  dance.     The 


UNDER  THE  MOON  57 

Circlet  always  begins  by  the  Fairies  moving  slowly  round, 
as  though  they  were  in  a  procession;  then  they  move 
faster,  with  intricate  steps  and  interchanging  of  places, 
the  Circlet  becomes  a  double  and  then  a  triple  one. 
The  Fairies  open  their  wings,  and  without  leaving  the 
ground  they  whirl  round  so  fast  that  they  become  indis- 
tinguishable one  from  another,  and  look  like  quivering 
wreaths  on  the  grass,  which  break  suddenly,  and  disperse 
— and  the  Circlet  is  over. 

Any  number  can  join  in  this  dance,  and  at  any  minute  ; 
either  singly,  or  in  pairs,  or  by  groups.  The  English  Elf 
joined  singly,  and  when  it  was  over  he  wandered  away  for 
a  little,  to  listen  to  the  music.  Fairy  music  does  not  cease 
when  the  dance  is  over.  It  is  a  continuous  kind  of 
music,  made  of  the  mingling  of  many  things — the  shining 
of  the  stars,  the  falling  of  the  water,  the  fitful  scent  of  the 
flowers,  the  drip  of  the  dew,  the  sighing  of  little  breezes, 
that  pass  through  the  night,  all  these  things  make  the 
Fairy  music — and  the  brightening  of  a  moonlit  cloud,  or 
the  opening  of  a  flower  near,  is  enough  to  change  the 
tune. 

Rose  Red  went  down  towards  the  stream,  and  thought 
he  was  alone,  till  he  heard  voices  coming  from  under  a 
tall  Meadowsweet  in  the  sedge. 

One  voice  belonged  to  a  whimsical  Orchis  sprite,  an 


58  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

inventor  of  riddles ;  and  he  was  just  asking  with  great 
solemnity — 

"  Who  saw  the  new  moon  rise  ? — and  why  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  oh,  I  don't  know  ! "  said  his  puzzled 
little  partner.  "  But  if  you  like,  I'll  ask  the  Owl  the  next 
time  I  find  him  awake.  He  knows  such  a  number  of 
odd  things." 

"  Then  you  may  ask  him  too,"  said  the  voice  of  the 
Orchis  sprite,  with  increased  solemnity,  "  what  happened 
to  the  Fairy  who  found  a  rush  with  a  green  top  ?  " 

Rose  Red  went  elsewhere,  and  thought  over  the 
riddles.  He  always  sat  down  when  he  wanted  to  think  ; 
so  he  sat  down  now  with  his  back  against  the  firm  stem 
of  a  bracken  to  steady  his  mind.  But  he  had  hardly  got 
further  than  the  conclusion  that  a  rush  with  a  green  top 
was  really  an  impossible  subject  of  thought,  when  he 
heard  voices  again. 

There  were  two  little  Fairies  sitting  and  slowly  swinging 
on  a  strand  of  gossamer,  which  stretched  from  this 
bracken  round  to  another.  When  they  swung  back- 
wards they  were  lost  in  the  shadow  of  the  fern ;  when 
they  swung  forwards  they  came  full  under  a  silver  moon- 
beam, and  then  one  of  them  might  have  been  observed 
to  be  holding  the  other  safely  on  her  seat.  She  was 
Breath  o'  Clover,  and  one  of  the  sweetest  things  alive. 


UNDER  THE  MOON  59 

"  Tell  me,"  she  said  confidentially,  and  her  hands 
were  clasped  on  his  shoulder,  "  tell  me  the  strangest  thing 
that  ever  happened  to  you."  And  they  swung  back  into 
the  shadow. 

"  If  I  do,"  said  a  voice — and  to  whom  should  it  belong 
but  to  Seed  o'  Valour  ? — "  If  I  do,  you  must  never  tell  it 
again.  For  a  soldier  should  not  report  on  his  own  doings, 
except  officially."  And  they  swung  forward  into  the  light. 

"  Oh,  I'll  never  tell,"  said  Breath  o'  Clover  sweetly. 
"  Go  on,  please ! " 

"  Well,"  began  Seed  o'  Valour,  "  I  don't  know  if  you're 
aware  that  there  is  a  flower  called  Snapdragon.  Hold 
tight !  I'm  going  to  swing  faster.  It  isn't  one  of  our 
kind ;  it  grows  in  gardens,  and  so  we  don't  see  it.  Every 
flower  on  its  stem  is  the  head  of  a  fiery  dragon,  in  a  state 
of  grim  wrath,  with  his  jaws  so  tightly  locked  that  even  a 
Bee  can't  get  inside  them.  Only  a  Bumble  Bee  can,  by 
using  all  his  strength ;  and  whenever  he  tries  to  escape 
again,  the  Dragon  head  makes  a  fearful  snap  at  him,  and 
gets  crimson  with  fury.  Well,  of  course  no  Fairy  has 
ever  been  inside  a  Snapdragon,  and  I  should  never  have 
thought  of  going  myself,  if  Trefoil  had  not  told  me  that 
a  Snapdragon  was  living  on  the  top  of  that  garden  wall 
he  is  always  haunting,  where  so  many  Blackbirds 
live " 


60  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

"  Oh,  I  hope  you  didn't  go ! "  cried  little  Breath  o' 
Clover,  who  would  have  been  deeply  disappointed  all 
th  j  same  if  the  story  had  stopped  there,  because  of  his 
not  having  gone. 

"  Well,  I'm  here  now,  you  know,"  said  Seed  o'  Valour 
consolingly.  "  I  had  a  long  time  to  wait  on  that  wall 
though,  till  a  Bumble  Bee  came  lumbering  up  from  the 
garden.  He  had  got  himself  dusted  all  over  with  pollen 
out  of  a  white  lily,  as  it  was ;  but  a  Bee  never  knows 
when  he  has  had  enough,  and  the  moment  he  saw  the 
Snapdragon  on  the  wall,  he  buzzed  straight  at  it.  I 
followed  him.  He  prized  open  the  tight,  red  jaws  of 
that  Snapdragon,  and  began  to  thrust  himself  inside.  I 
flew  up  and  lit  on  the  great  lower  lip  beside  him." 

"  How  dreadfully  dangerous  ! "  murmured  Breath  o' 
Clover. 

"  While  the  Bee  was  there,"  Seed  o'  Valour  explained, 
"  he  couldn't  shut  his  mouth ;  so  I  stood  and  looked 
down  his  long  white  throat.  But  all  of  a  sudden  the  Bee 
let  himself  out  before  I  expected  it,  the  Dragon  head 
gave  an  awful  snap  and,  I "  He  paused. 

"  Oh,  what ! "  whispered  Breath  o'  Clover,  awe- 
stricken. 

"  I  fell  straight  down  his  throat,"  said  Seed  o'  Valour, 
with  the  freezing  calm  of  a  warrior. 


UNDER  THE  MOON  61 

Dear  little  Breath  o'  Clover  nearly  dropped  from  her 
seat. 

"  Did  you,  oh,  did  you  ever  get  out  again  ? "  she 
implored. 

But  Rose  Red  went  elsewhere.  Instead  of  wanting  to 
hear  the  end  of  this  thrilling  adventure,  he  felt  a  great 
desire  to  get  some  little  Fairy  to  come  and  listen  to  him 
while  the  moon  was  shining.  He  left  the  bracken,  and 
searched  about  the  silver  feet  of  the  birch-trees ;  he 
wandered  off  through  a  perfect  forest  of  Meadowsweet, 
where  showers  of  loose,  white  petals  fell  down  upon  him ; 
and  just  as  he  came  out  on  the  edge  of  the  dewy  grass 
again,  he  found  a  little  Fairy  alone. 

She  was  kneeling  down,  her  face  was  hidden,  and  he 
heard  her  laugh  softly  to  herself.  For  a  tiny  red  Lady- 
bird was  lying  on  its  back  there  before  her,  perfectly 
helpless,  with  its  little  black  legs  struggling  in  the  air ; 
and  the  creature  was  too  proud  to  ask  any  one  to  turn  it 
over,  though  it  well  knew  it  could  never  find  its  own  legs 
without  help,  and  might  have  to  pass  the  rest  of  its 
life  in  that  painfully  false  position.  The  little  Fairy 
laughed  again,  and  then  she  turned  the  Ladybird 
over  gently.  It  pretended  not  to  see  her,  but  imme- 
diately began  to  climb  up  a  tall,  feathering  grass; 
and  when  it  reached  the  top,  with  great  deliberation 


THE  ELF-ERRANT 

it  unsheathed  first  one  wing  and  then  the  other,  and 
was  gone. 

"  I  should  think  it  would  lose  its  way  at  night,"  Rose 
Red  observed. 

The  little  Fairy  did  not  answer. 

"  I  wish  you  would  come  and  talk  to  me,"  he  said  next. 

She  stretched  out  a  hand  to  him,  and  they  flew  to- 
gether to  a  hollow  under  the  bank — a  place  soft  with 
green  moss,  and  shaded  by  a  delicate  fern.  There  they 
sat  down  and  looked  at  each  other. 

"Why,  you  are  the  stranger,  the  English  Elf!"  she 
said,  and  at  once  her  face  grew  kind. 

"  I  am  Rose  Red,"  he  replied.     "  And  you  ?  " 

"  Tell  me  how  you  came  to  Ireland,"  she  asked. 

So  he  told  her,  not  at  all  unwilling  ;  and  then  he  told 
her  other  things,  and  yet  others,  this  silent  Elf,  and  the 
Irish  Fairy  bent  her  head  to  listen. 

"  Are  you  glad  you  came  to  Ireland  ?  "  she  asked  him 
soon. 

But  that  made  him  silent,  for  he  remembered,  indeed, 
how  cast  down  he  had  been  that  morning,  when  Trefoil 
told  him  that  he  had  come  to  a  country  where  time  was 
plenty,  and  sense  was  scarce. 

"  Never  mind  ! "  said  the  Irish  Fairy,  who  was  quick 
of  comprehension.  "  Is  it  lonely,  perhaps  ? — but  you'll 


UNDER  THE  MOON  6$ 

find  friends  soon  among  the  Roses.  There  are  numbers 
of  your  name  here  :  Roses  Red  and  Roses  White,  Roses 
Pink  and  Roses  Pale — all  kinds  of  Roses.  Come  with 
me,  and  we  can  find  them  with  the  Honeysuckle  Fairies 
on  the  Ring." 

But  Rose  Red  did  not  stir. 

"  I  can  find  them  to-morrow,"  he  said.  "  I  will  stay 
with  you  while  the  moon  shines.  Tell  me  your  own 
name,  not  theirs." 

"  If  you  can't  tell  my  name  for  yourself,"  said  the 
Fairy,  "  you  will  never  know  it.  And  I  must  fly  away, 
though  I  am  ready  to  stay  with  you.  Tell  my  name  if 
you  can — or  try !  " 

So  he  tried.  The  little  Fairy  had  risen  as  if  to  go ; 
she  stood  for  a  moment  leaning  against  a  frond  of  the 
delicate  fern,  which  looked  like  frosted  silver  between  its 
own  dew  and  the  moonlight.  Rose  Red  gazed  into  her 
face,  which  was  turned  towards  him  with  a  steady,  friendly 
look.  Her  eyes  were  the  very  bluest,  kindest  he  had 
ever  seen — bluer  than  the  sea,  kinder  than  the  sky.  He 
suddenly  remembered  how  she  had  helped  the  foolish 
little  Ladybird  ;  without  a  minute's  thought,  he  cried — 

"  Speedwell." 

"  I  am  Speedwell,"  said  the  Fairy,  and,  smiling,  she 
came  over  to  him  again. 


64  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  bring  you  good  luck,"  she  said,  "  since 
you  are  brave.  Have  you  any  wish  ?  " 

"  Not  to-night,"  said  the  English  Elf. 

Speedwell  looked  half-regretful. 

"  This  would  have  been  the  good  moment,  and  I  can- 
not ask  again,"  she  murmured  to  herself.  But  to  him 
she  said  aloud :  "  Happy  are  they  that  have  no 
wishes ! " 

"  Are  you  one  of  those  that  can  grant  wishes  ?  "  said 
Rose  Red. 

"  Sometimes,"  said  the  Fairy  slowly. 

"  When  ?    Tell  me  when  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  When  one  that  wishes  is  brave,  when  I  that  hear  him 
have  no  wish  of  my  own  then,  only  then  I  can.  Ask  no 
other  question." 

"  Only  this,"  said  Rose  Red  eagerly,  "  have  you  no 
wish  now  ?  " 

There  was  no  answer. 

"  Have  you  none? — none?  "  he  cried  aloud. 

The  little  silvery  fern  shook  and  dripped  at  his  voice ; 
the  Fairy  had  vanished. 

"Speedwell!  Speedwell!"  called  the  Elf,  and  he 
darted  out  into  the  moonlight.  It  was  all  lonely,  bright, 
and  empty  there.  "  Speedwell !  " 

He  flew  far  afield,  and  searched  and  wandered  along 


UNDER  THE  MOON  65 

the  stream,  between  sleeping  flowers  and  twinkling 
grasses,  and  groves  of  the  sweet-scented  fern  of  Altaneigh ; 
but  he  found  no  Speedwell  there.  He  knew  he  should 
not  find  her  now,  and  yet  he  could  not  help  looking. 
He  knew,  because  it  was  plain,  that  she  had  some  of 
those  higher  powers  which  he  had  never  won ;  therefore, 
if  she  chose  to  be  invisible,  it  was  hopeless  to  seek  her, 
and  chiefly  because  she  was  there  all  the  time. 
At  last  he  wandered  back  to  the  Fairy  Ring. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

UP   AND   DOWN. 

THE  mid-day  sun  was  hot — as  hot  as  it  ever  is  in 
Ireland.  The  upper  glen  lay  in  a  mist  of  heat,  the  dark 
old  wood  looked  like  a  shadow  on  the  side  of  the  hill ; 
the  river  almost  slept. 

Over  the  fields  of  green  oats  the  warm  air  quivered  in 
waving  lines  ;  there  was  not  a  breath  to  stir  the  grain,  or 
show  for  an  instant  how  many  dark-blue  cornflowers  were 
hidden  in  that  rustling  sea.  Along  its  edge  the  poppies 
burnt  in  rows.  Their  thin,  silk  petals  floated  out  on  the 
air,  as  though  it  were  water ;  they  were  light  as  flames. 
It  was  shady  only  under  the  elder-trees.  Those  crooked, 
old,  hollow-hearted  things  were  clothed  in  cool,  thick 
green,  and  covered  with  great  creamy  flowers  like  full 
moons.  An  elder  is  never  too  old  to  flower. 

But  the  glen  was  altogether  too  hot  for  the  Fairies  at 


UP  AND  DOWN  67 

this  hour.  They  had  retreated — all  who  were  not  asleep 
— up  the  hill-sides  and  among  the  hazels  by  the  stream. 
In  one  place,  where  a  great  deal  of  moss  lay  at  the  roots 
of  an  old  hazel,  a  number  of  Fairies  had  laid  themselves 
down  to  sleep. 

The  noise  of  a  waterfall  above  sounded  through  their 
dreams  ;  its  white  spray  came  over  the  air  like  a  mist,  and 
cooled  everything  near.  So  the  Fairies  dreamt  of  summer 
rain,  and  music,  and  the  colours  of  the  rainbow.  They 
woke  refreshed,  and  folded  back  their  wings ; l  then  they 
began  to  talk. 

The  first  part  of  their  conversation  is,  from  its  simplicity, 
too  difficult  to  be  recorded.  It  may  have  concerned  the 
notes  of  a  thrush,  or  the  white  strawberry  blossoms,  or 
the  doings  of  tiny  fishes  in  the  burn,  or  any  other  standing 
mystery.  But  at  last  they  fell  upon  the  subject  of  the 
English  Elf,  and  here  we  have  a  chance  to  follow  them. 

"  I  was  with  him  yesterday,"  said  one,  in  a  slightly 
irritable  voice.  "  He  wanted  to  know  such  a  quantity  of 
things,  and  half  of  them  were  things  I  didn't  know  myself ! 
It's  tiring  to  have  to  invent  reasons  for  a  good  hour  on 
end,  I  can  tell  you." 

1  A  Fairy  does  not,  as  some  scientific  men  have  vainly  sup- 
posed, put  his  head  under  his  wing,  like  a  bird.  He/wAr  his  -wings 
over  his  head ;  and  to  this  rule  there  is  no  exception. 

F   2 


68  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

"  Was  he  grateful  ?  "  asked  a  Fairy  curiously. 

"  Not  a  bit.  He  said  I  must  be  wrong  half  a  dozen 
times,  and  he  wanted  to  show  me  why." 

"  That's  just  it ! "  said  the  curious  Fairy,  sitting  up 
suddenly.  "  He  always  wants  to  know  the  reason  why. 
I  never  met  with  such  a  reasonable  being  before.  It's 
not  natural,  and  I  say  it  shows  he  must  be  mad." 

"  Perhaps  it's  only  a  habit,"  suggested  Goldspeck. 

"  No,  it's  him ! "  said  Broom  decidedly.  "  He's 
savage  about  reasons.  You  can't  give  him  enough  of 
them,  and  you  can't  get  them  good  enough  when  you 
do!" 

"  That's  perfectly  true,"  sighed  Whim,  the  Fairy  who 
had  exhausted  himself  with  inventing  reasons  the  day 
before. 

"  And  it's  no  good  to  tell  him  that  you  do  a  thing  just 
for  fun  either.  He  doesn't  count  that  a  reason,"  con- 
tinued Broom,  who  seemed  to  have  been  studying  the 
English  Elf  rather  closely.  "  He  asks,  '  What's  the  sense 
of  it?'" 

"Why,  the  fun  of  it  is  the  sense  of  it,  of  course,"  the 
others  rejoined  readily. 

"  Yes,  to  us ;  but  not  to  him.  He's  different,  don't 
you  see  ?  He's  not  so  clever  as  some  of  you,  but  he's 
dreadfully  intelligent." 


UP  AND  DOWN  69 

"  Is  that  why  he  doesn't  understand  us  ?  "  asked  inno- 
cent little  Goldspeck. 

"That's  why,"  Broom  declared  seriously.  "And 
there's  another  thing — there's  the  country  he  came 
from." 

"  What  about  that,  Broom  ?  "  they  asked. 

"  Is  there  one  of  you  here  that  knows  the  first  thing 
at  all  about  England  ?  "  Broom  inquired. 

After  a  pause — 

"  I  know  it's  not  in  Ireland,"  one  Fairy  ventured. 

And  encouraged  by  this — 

"  It's  a  very  out-of-the-way  place,  somewhere  behind 
us  there,"  said  another,  with  a  careless  wave  of  his  hand 
in  no  particular  direction. 

"  I'm  thinking  I'd  better  go  to  the  Swallows  for  news 
of  it,"  said  Broom  reflectively.  "  I  wouldn't  like  to  ask 
the  English  Elf  too  much  about  it,  for  I've  a  notion  that 
it's  a  bad  country  out  and  out ! " 

"  How's  that  ?  "  said  a  sleepy  voice,  belonging  to  a 
Fairy  only  half-awakened. 

"If  you  take  notice  of  the  English  Elf,"  Broom 
explained,  "  you'll  find  he's  always  thinking  of  improving 
something.  The  habit  must  have  grown  on  him  in  his 
own  country,  and  as  I  take  it,  because  the  place  is  so 
bad  they  must  always  be  thinking  what  they  can  do  to 


To  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

improve  it.  Now  we  that  have  a  whole  soft,  green 
island  to  ourselves,  fit  for  Fairies  to  live  in,  what  do  we 
do  with  it  ?  " 

"  Let  it  be,  and  good  luck  to  it !  "  half  a  dozen  voices 
answered. 

"  Very  well,  then ;  don't  you  see  what's  the  matter 
with  him  ?  He  can't  believe  that  this  country  doesn't 
want  improving  like  his  own,  that's  all ! " 

And  Broom,  having  spoken  his  mind,  sank  back  into 
his  little  mossy  nest,  and  pulled  the  fringes  of  it  about 
to  make  a  pillow  for  his  head.  But  Whim  began  to 
laugh. 

"  I'll  tell  you  one  of  the  things  he  wanted  to  know 
the  reason  of  yesterday,"  he  said.  "  Why  did  so  many 
of  the  Fairies  here  have  names  with  o'  in  them  ?  He 
couldn't  understand  it.  Seed  o'  Valour,  and  Spark 
o'  Dew,  and  Breath  o'  Clover,  and  Fleck  o'  Foam, 
and  the  rest ;  they  bothered  him  entirely.  Why 
couldn't  they  be  called  Foam-flake,  and  Clover-scent, 
and " 

"If  he  has  anything  to  propose  about  my  name,  I 
hope  he'll  come  and  tell  me  what  it  is  !  "  cried  a  fierce 
little  Fairy  called  Peep  o'  Day,  starting  up  in  his  place. 
"  If  he  thinks  he  can  call  me  Day-light,  I'll  show  him 
an  excellent  good  reason  why  he  can't." 


UP  AND  DOWN  71 

And  Peep  o'  Day  got  quite  angry.  All  the  Fairies 
present  who  had  o'  in  their  names  sympathised  strongly  ; 
but  those  who  had  not,  laughed. 

"  Oh,  he  meant  no  harm,"  said  Whim.  "  It's  all  this 
rage  for  improvement  that  he  can't  resist ;  and  of  course 
our  country  doesn't  offer  the  field  for  improvement  that 
his  own  does." 

"  I  believe  you're  all  wrong  about  that,"  said  Trefoil, 
who  had  not  yet  spoken.  "  By  what  I  know,  England 
can't  be  the  hopeless  sort  of  place  you  make  out.  And 
it's  not  the  craze  for  improvement  that  bothers  the 
English  Elf  half  so  much  as  his  own  ridiculous  energy. 
I  don't  pretend  to  know  what  he's  made  of,  but  it  must 
be  of  something  that  never  wears  out.  I  never  saw  such 
energy  in  any  Fairy  frame.  Why,  a  midge  on  a  warm 
evening  is  a  fool  to  him  !  " 

"Where  does  he  get  it  from  at  all?"  murmured  a 
wondering  sprite,  gazing  down  on  his  own  outstretched 
limbs. 

"  No  matter,  he  has  it !  "  Trefoil  affirmed.  "  And 
once  it's  on  him,  you  might  as  well  say  '  be  asy ! '  to  a 
Swallow  swooping  on  a  fly  as  to  him.  I  know,  for  I've 
tried,"  he  added  quaintly. 

"  Well,  that's  too  like  a  Bee  to  suit  this  company," 
said  one. 


72  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

"  He's  just  the  moral  of  a  Bee,  barring  the  buzz," 
another  scornfully  agreed. 

"  You're  wrong,"  said  Trefoil  calmly.  "  He's  the 
moral  of  a  soldier,  all  the  Foxglove  Fairies  say." 

"  Then  they  may  keep  him  to  fight  with,  and  wel- 
come !  I  wouldn't  take  him  to  live  with  for  anything 
you  could  name,"  said  the  scornful  Fairy,  with  perfect 
sincerity. 

"  And  you  don't  believe  England  could  be  a  place  fit 
for  a  Fairy  to  live  in,  either?  Well,  just  listen  to  this, 
and,  mind  you,  I  learnt  it  from  the  English  Elf." 
Trefoil  began  to  sing  softly — 


"  Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I  : 
In  a  cowslip's  bell  I  lie  ; 
There  I  couch  when  owls  do  cry. 
On  the  bat's  back  I  do  fly 
After  summer,  merrily. 
Merrily,  merrily  shall  I  live  now, 
Under  the  blossom  that  hangs  on  the  bough." 


The  Fairies  listened,  motionless  and  charmed.  The 
scornful  fay  drew  himself  up  till  his  elbows  rested  on 
the  ground,  and  his  chin  on  his  hands ;  he  was  breathless 
with  pleasure. 

"Sing  it  again,  Trefoil !  "  he  murmured. 


UP  AND  DOWN  73 

Trefoil  sang  it  again,  and  a  number  of  voices  chimed  in 
with — 

"  Merrily,  merrily  shall  I  live  now, 
Under  the  blossom  that  hangs  on  the  bough." 

"  Whose  song  is  that  ?  "  they  all  wanted  to  know. 

The  English  Elf  said  it  was  the  song  of  a  sprite  called 
Ariel,  and  a  great  magician  in  England  made  it  for  him 
long  ago — or  else  the  sprite  had  made  it  for  the  magician. 
He  wasn't  quite  clear  about  that,  and  he  didn't  seem  to 
know  how  the  song  had  become  impressed  on  his  mind 
either. 

"  Made  it  in  England  ? "  they  questioned  doubtfully. 

"  Yes,  in  England,"  Trefoil  repeated  firmly. 

The  scornful  little  fay  sank  back  in  his  place. 

"We  never  made  one  like  it,"  he  whispered,  almost 
sadly — "never  one  half  so  sweet.  Now  I  believe  in 
England." 

"So  do  I,"  said  a  cheerful  sprite,  rocking  himself 
where  he  sat.  "You  see  they  have  two  of  the  best 
things  in  the  world  there — cowslips  and  lime-blossom." 

"How  do  you  know  about  the  lime-blossom?" 
demanded  Broom. 

"  Isn't  that  '  the  blossom  that  hangs  on  the  bough '  ?  " 
said  the  cheerful  sprite. 


74  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

And  the  others  agreed  with  him  that  it  was. 


But  the  English  Elf  all  this  time  was  wandering  about 
alone,  and  very  lonely  he  felt.  He  was  by  nature  rather 
a  solitary  sprite ;  but  it  is  one  thing  to  be  alone  when  you 
like  it,  and  quite  another  thing  when  you  can't  help  it. 
There  were  so  many  Fairies  in  this  country,  so  many,  and 
all  strange  to  him. 

The  longer  he  stayed  with  them,  the  less  he  under- 
stood them.  It  was  not  for  want  of  trying;  he  might, 
indeed,  have  understood  them  better  if  he  had  tried  less. 
He  was  constantly  demanding  explanations  from  them, 
and  the  explanations  he  received  were  sometimes  wild 
and  sometimes  witty,  but  they  all  had  one  point  in 
common — they  explained  nothing.  More  often  they 
threw  a  fresh  perplexity  over  the  subject  under  examina- 
tion. Explanation  was  not  the  Irish  Fairies'  forte. 
They  had  a  way  of  expecting  things  to  be  understood 
without  words  being  spent  on  them,  which  answered 
admirably  among  themselves,  but  was  apt  to  leave  the 
foreigner  deeply  bewildered.  When  Rose  Red  was  be- 
wildered, he  grew  serious,  and  then  they  fled  from  him. 
It  made  no  difference.  He  sat  down,  and  pondered  alone 
over  their  deficiencies — for  of  course  he  knew  it  was  their 


UP  AND  DOWN  75 

deficiencies  which  prevented  them  from  coming  within 
the  range  of  his  understanding. 

Their  conduct  was  so  variable  that  it  forced  him  to 
change  his  mind  about  them  from  day  to  day,  which  he 
much  disliked  doing ;  for  his  usual  habit  was  to  make  up 
his  mind  once,  and  keep  it  fixed  in  that  position. 

His  first  opinion  was  that  the  Irish  Fairies  were  a 
thoroughly  warlike  race ;  this  was  after  his  experience  in 
the  Foxglove  Camp.  His  next  opinion  was  that  they 
were  half  gay,  half  dreamy,  and  wholly  unpractical ;  this 
was  after  his  experience  under  the  midsummer  moon. 
Very  little  later  he  declared  to  himself  that  they  were 
all  hopelessly  childish,  but  almost  immediately  there 
occurred  to  his  well-trained  mind  instances  of  such  re- 
markable cleverness  in  the  Irish  sprites,  that  he  concluded 
their  playfulness  to  be  a  blind,  and  their  real  natures 
deeply  designing.  What  the  character  of  their  designs 
might  be  he  could  never  quite  determine,  but  of  their 
existence  he  had  no  doubt  whatever. 

It  was  not  conceivable  to  him  that  any  race  of  people 
should  live  on  no  plan  at  all,  but  simply  from  day  to  day. 
For  his  own  part  he  was  always  making  plans,  and  he  was 
kind  enough  to  make  several  for  his  thoughtless  Irish 
friends,  who  received  them  blandly,  but  took  no  action 
at  all  upon  them.  When  he  criticised  their  ways  and 


76  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

doings  they  were  not  annoyed,  they  were  only  deeply 
uninterested,  and  they  never  defended  themselves 
except  by  a  joke.  At  first  he  thought  this  a  sign  of 
conviction  on  their  part,  and  he  was  gratified.  But  too 
soon  he  regarded  it  as  a  sign  of  indifference,  and  he  was 
exasperated. 

Had  he  known  that  the  Irish  Fairies  were  kindly 
bearing  with  him  as  a  stranger,  and  excusing  his  craze 
for  improvement  in  consideration  of  the  dreadful  country 
he  had  left,  he  would  have  been  shocked.  But  then  it 
never  occurred  to  Rose  Red  that  he  could  possibly  be 
an  object  of  toleration,  instead  of  envy.  He  was  not  a 
conceited  Fairy,  but  he  was  profoundly  convinced  that 
he  was  the  representative  of  a  superior  race,  and  that  the 
fact  must  be  apparent  to  all  who  met  him.  The  demeanour 
of  the  Irish  Fairies  mystified  him.  He  perceived  at  last 
that  they  were  unimpressed  by  his  sovereignty  of  race, 
and  this  indifference  of  theirs  puzzled  him  at  first,  then 
troubled  him.  He  went  about  in  a  sort  of  disconcerted 
sadness,  which  made  him  rather  less  sympathetic  than 
before,  for  when  the  English  Elf  was  sad,  he  became 
twice  as  uncompromising.  He  saw  the  faults  in  the 
general  system  of  Irish  Fairyland  with  still  clearer  vision, 
and  stated  them  with  dreadful  distinctness. 

If  any  fay  would  have  started  up  and  contradicted  him 


UP  AND  DOWN  77 

flatly,  it  would  have  been  a  relief  to  his  mind.  But,  no — 
he  was  not  contradicted.  These  Irish  fays  had  a  kind  of 
careless  suavity,  which  his  strictest  candour  failed  to 
ruffle.  They  smiled  in  his  face ;  not  defiantly,  but  in 
scrutably.  They  shrugged  their  shoulders  a  little.  One- 
of  them  suggested  that  the  sun  had  been  a  trifle  hot,  and 
Rose  Red  had  been  flying  about  too  much,  perhaps? 
This  was  their  view  of  the  subject. 

It  drove  the  English  Elf  into  dull  despair.  And  really, 
his  case  was  a  hard  one,  for  if  you  tell  people  of  their 
deficiencies  in  the  plainest  manner  and  they  refuse  to  be 
excited  against  you,  what  remains  to  be  done  ?  The  re- 
former's occupation  is  gone. 

Rose  Red  in  his  extremity  bethought  himself  of  Seed 
o'  Valour,  and  went  in  search  of  him  to  the  Foxglove 
Camp.  That  fiery  little  warrior  would  not  listen,  he 
trusted,  quite  without  emotion  to  remarks  upon  the 
spirit  of  his  nation  from  a  foreigner. 

He  found  Seed  o'  Valour  without  any  difficulty,  but 
before  he  could  deliver  himself  of  the  stinging  truths  he 
came  to  impart,  Seed  o'  Valour  burst  forth  into  an  irre- 
sistible demand  for  sympathy.  A  soldier's  life  was  very 
hard  to  live,  he  declared,  when  you  could  get  no  fighting 
for  love  or  honey. 

"Since  the  day  you  were  here  yourself,  Rose  Red, 


78  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

when  I  missed  all  the  fun  and  you  got  all  the  fighting," 
said  Seed  o'  Valour,  plaintively;  "there  might  be  no 
such  things  as  Bees  in  the  land  of  the  living,  for  all  we 
have  seen  of  them  !  I  don't  know  who  would  have  the 
courage  to  take  up  arms  at  all,  if  he  knew  how  many 
hours  of  his  life  he'd  have  to  spend  on  watch,  with 
nothing  to  do  but  to  sleep  himself  stupid  in  a  Foxglove 
bell." 

Rose  Red  said  nothing,  for  he  was  not  in  a  sympathetic 
frame  of  mind.  Seed  o'  Valour's  plaintive  voice  took  on 
a  persuasive  tone. 

"  I  think  you  wer£  born  for  a  soldier,  Rose  Red,"  he 
said.  "  You  made  a  great  stand  that  day  in  the  bell  by 
yourself.  Bad  luck  to  me  for  an  omadhaun  that  I  wasn't 
with  you  to  see  the  work  !  Do  you  remember  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  remember,"  said  Rose  Red,  who  was  a  little 
mollified  in  spite  of  himself.  It  was  pleasant  to  recollect 
that  on  one  occasion  at  least  he  had  made  an  impression 
on  the  Irish  Fairies.  How  they  had  feted  him  by  moon- 
light afterwards !  And  the  sweet  Speedwell  had  said — 

"A  jewel  of  a  soldier!  and  it's  what  you  were  meant 
for,"  continued  Seed  o'  Valour,  who  had  thrown  himself 
down  carelessly  on  a  bed  of  wild  thyme.  He  kept  his 
bright  eyes  fixed  on  the  moody  face  of  the  English  Elf, 
who  stood  beside  him  motionless  with  folded  arms. 


UP  AND  DOWN  79 

"  If  you'd  only  enter  the  service,  we  needn't  be  wasting 
away  here,  day  and  night,  waiting  for  an  enemy  that 
hasn't  the  grace  to  know  when  he's  wanted.  I'm  sick  of 
being  on  the  defensive.  Join  us,  Rose  Red,  only  join, 
and  we'll  open  war  on  the  Bats  at  night,  whenever  the 
Bees  fail  us  in  the  day.  You  must  have  some  notion  of 
the  tactics  your  people  used  long  ago.  Didn't  you  tell 
me  that  yourself  now?" 

".AW  shouted  Rose  Red,  clapping  his  hands  to  his 
ears ;  "  I  won't  be  made  a  fool  of  if  I  have  to  die  of  this 
idleness.  I  told  you  I  knew  nothing  about  it,  and  I 
don't." 

"  But  sure,  I  knew  you  were  only  shamming  then  " 
said  Seed  o'  Valour,  with  a  sweet,  insinuating  smile,  as 
he  stretched  out  an  arm  through  the  thyme  to  catch  Rose 
Red  by  the  ankle,  and  prevent  his  escape. 

Rose  Red  leaped  into  the  air,  beat  his  wings  together 
with  impatience,  and  darted  off. 

Seed  o'  Valour  rose  on  his  elbow  and  looked  after  him, 
but  made  no  movement  to  follow.  He  let  his  head  sink 
back  again,  until  the  thyme  closed  over  it,  and  he  breathed 
perfumed  air. 

"  He'll  come  back  again.  He  thinks  he'll  find  a  bigger 
race  of  Fairy  soldiers,  or  maybe  better  trained  to  night 
service,  and  then  he'd  be  willing  to  lead  them  against 


8o  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

the  Bats,  and  show  them  what  he  knows.  But  he  won't 
find  them,  and  then  he'll  come  back  to  us.  Oh,  but 
he's  a  playboy,  that  Elf! " 

These  were  the  reflections  of  the  enthusiastic  warrior, 
lying  on  his  bed  of  thyme. 

But  Rose  Red  flew  on  through  the  sweet  summer  air 
in  a  most  unenviable  frame  of  mind.  His  hopes  were 
gone  and  his  temper  was  following  them.  When  he 
thought  of  Seed  o'  Valour  and  his  impracticable  plans, 
he  grew  wild  with  impatience.  If  he  had  only  been 
fortunate  enough  to  meet  with  some  little  difficulty  or 
danger  that  morning,  he  would  have  been  soothed  and 
gratified  into  a  different  being.  But  all  things  were  idly 
smooth  and  sunny,  and  the  course  of  events  refused  to 
be  ruffled  to  suit  the  necessity  of  a  strange,  foreign  Fairy, 
who  was  slowly  consuming  with  suppressed  energy,  and 
the  want  of  an  object  to  expend  it  upon.  It's  a  dreadful 
thing  to  be  afflicted  in  this  way  when  the  weather  is  hot. 

But  no  one  can  fly  for  ever,  and  at  last  even  Rose  Red 
sank  his  proud  little  wings,  and  deposited  himself  in  a 
place  of  coolness.  He  was  now  high  up  on  the  hillside, 
where,  close  to  a  forest  of  bracken,  there  grew  a  little 
clump  of  sweet  Woodruff.  He  crept  in  there,  and  laid 
himself  down.  The  scent  of  the  small  white  flowers 
cooled  and  contented  him ;  but  when  he  turned  another 


UP  AND  DOWN  8r 

way,  where  round,  scarlet  Pimpernels  were  blazing  open- 
eyed  in  the  sun,  their  brilliance  vexed  him,  and  he  grew 
hot  and  angry  again.  Fairies  are  very  strongly  influenced 
by  the  colours  and  scents  of  flowers.  Some  make  them 
hot  and  some  make  them  cool,  some  give  them  courage 
and  some  keep  them  merry.  The  breath  of  certain 
flowers  is  full  of  energy,  and  the  breath  of  others  is  full 
of  sleep. 

The  Poppy  Fairies,  for  instance,  are  almost  always 
asleep  ;  their  life  is  only  a  succession  of  many-coloured 
dreams.  If  they  wake  at  all  it  is  on  a  night  of  wet 
drenching  dews.  Then  they  may  open  their  heavy  dark 
eyes  a  moment,  and  see  each  other,  and  wonder.  But 
they  do  not  know  that  they  have  wakened  up,  they  think 
it  is  only  another  dream,  and  before  they  have  time  to 
understand,  their  eyes  close  softly,  their  heads  sink  back, 
and  they  are  sleeping  in  the  Poppy  flowers  again. 

The  other  Fairies  are  a  little  afraid  of  them,  and  very 
sorry  for  them  too.  They  come  sometimes  and  peep 
over  the  rims  of  the  flowers,  to  see  the  Poppy  Fairies 
asleep,  wrapped  in  their  flame-coloured  garments,  and 
the  other  Fairies  wonder  at  their  still  white  faces,  and 
their  black  hair  folded  back  to  make  pillows  for  their 
heads.  They  would  like  to  whisper  something  into  the 
ears  of  the  sleeping  ones,  to  make  the  long  lashes  lift  from 

G 


32  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

their  cheeks,  and  to  see  a  smile  move  their  closed  red 
lips  apart.  But  they  are  afraid  to  wake  them,  and  soon 
they  have  to  steal  away  softly,  when  the  Poppy  charm 
begins  to  make  their  own  eyes  heavy,  and  their  limbs  dull 
with  sleep. 

The  English  Elf  was  taken  one  day  to  see  some  of 
these  prisoners  sleep-fast  in  the  flowers.  He  observed 
that  it  was  incomprehensible  to  him  how  any  sane  beings 
-could  give  themselves  up  to  a  P  ower  which  could  not  be 
really  irresistible.  Sleep  itself,  he  said,  was  only  a  kind 
of  weakness,  a  cessation  of  power ;  and  what  difficulty 
-could  there  be  in  resisting  a  weakness  ? 

He  said  no  more  at  that  time,  for  his  head  nodded 
forward,  his  knees  gave  way,  and  the  Fairies  who  had 
brought  him  there  dragged  him  hastily  away  from  the 
spot,  supporting  him  one  under  each  arm.  But  Rose 
Red  often  afterwards  alluded  to  a  fatal  weakness  of  will 
which  he  had  observed  to  be  characteristic  of  all  Fairies 
of  the  Irish  nation.  They  were  too  susceptible,  he  said, 
too  easily  influenced,  and  led  on.  He  had  never  seen 
Fairies  so  easily  influenced. 

And  this  made  it  the  more  strange  that  he  had  never 
been  able  to  influence  them  himself.  The  more  he  tried 
to  lead  them  in  the  way  he  considered  best,  the  more 
they  inclined  to  the  opposite  direction.  He  never  seemed 


UP  AND  DOWN  83 

able  to  account  for  this  at  all ;  but  he  sometimes  said  in 
his  large  way,  that  weak-minded  Fairies  were  usually 
wrong-minded  too. 

On  this  particular  afternoon,  however,  the  English  Elf 
was  not  theorising  on  his  Irish  friends,  as  he  lay  among 
the  white  Woodruff.  He  was  thinking  over  his  own  per- 
sonal perplexities.  Though  he  grew  calmer  as  he  grew 
cooler,  he  could  not  quite  forget  his  aggravation  at  having 
nothing  to  do,  to  undo,  or  to  reform.  It  was  this  which 
kept  him  awake,  in  spite  of  the  soft  air,  the  scent,  and 
the  sunshine. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
AWAY! 

SOMETHING  dropped  on  the  ground,  and  a  discon- 
tented buzzing  arose  on  the  air.  Rose  Red  expected 
it  to  pass  quickly,  or  at  least  to  wander  from  place 
to  place ;  but  it  droned  steadily  on,  and  at  last  curiosity 
made  him  creep  out  of  his  nest  to  see  what  was  the 
matter. 

"  It  must  be  a  Bee,"  he  said ;  and  so  it  was. 

A  great,  heavy  Bee  had  dropped  there,  exhausted  by 
the  weight  of  a  huge  load  of  honey,  and  embarrassed 
besides  by  having  flown  right  into  a  Spider's  web,  and  got 
a  quantity  of  woolly  cobweb  wound  about  its  wings.  The 
Bee  was  now  in  an  awkward  position,  for  its  wings  were 
too  much  hampered  with  cobweb  to  lift  its  body,  and  its 
legs  were  too  heavy  with  honey  to  clear  its  wings  ;  so  it 
lay  helpless,  and  buzzed  loudly  for  assistance. 


AWAY !  85 

Rose  Red  saw  at  once  that  the  Bee  had  attempted  to 
carry  a  double  load,  and  he  began  to  point  out  the  folly 
of  this  proceeding  with  his  usual  sound  sense. 

"  If  you'll  help  me  to  clear  my  wings,"  said  the  Bee, 
"  you  can  say  all  that  while  you're  doing  it,  and  waste 
less  time." 

Rose  Red  was  delighted  with  the  remark.  It  was  the 
first  time  since  his  arrival  in  Ireland  that  he  had  heard 
any  living  creature  allude  to  the  value  of  time.  He  felt 
the  bond  of  sympathy  at  once,  and  cheerfully  pulled  up 
some  spikes  of  moss  to  rub  the  Bee's  wings  with.  But 
just  as  he  was  beginning,  the  recollection  of  his  last  en- 
counter with  a  Bee  came  over  him ;  it  was  on  that 
occasion  when  he  was  left  alone  in  Seed  o'  Valour's 
Foxglove  bell ;  and  he  dropped  the  grass  and  walked 
round  in  front  of  the  insect's  eyes. 

"  Look  !  do  you  by  any  chance  recognise  me  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  I  never  saw  you  in  my  life  before,"  said  the  Bee, 
without  taking  the  trouble  to  examine  him.  "  But  go  on, 
don't  let  that  prevent  you." 

"  No,  I  was  going  on  to  say " 

"  I  mean,  go  on  rubbing  my  wings,"  the  Bee  inter- 
rupted. 

"  I  can  do  both,  if  necessary,"  said  Rose  Red  calmly, 


86  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

picking  up  the  moss.  "  But  I  wish  to  ask  first,  where 
did  you  get  that  honey  ?  " 

"  Over  Carnamore,"  said  the  Bee,  impatiently. 

"  Ah,  Carnamore,"  Rose  Red  repeated,  brushing  away 
at  the  cobweb.  "  If  you  had  got  it  at  the  Foxglove 
Camp,  I  should  have  requested  you  to  carry  it  no  further, 
you  know." 

"  You're  not  a  Foxglove  Fairy,  as  far  as  I  can  see," 

said  the  Bee  ;  "  and  if  you  were "  He  said  no  more, 

for  fear  Rose  Red  should  decline  to  give  him  any  further 
assistance. 

"  I  should  like  to  ask  why  you  don't  let  the  Foxgloves 
alone,  for  good  and  all  ?  "  Rose  Red  inquired,  with  his 
usual  thirst  for  information  strong  upon  him.  "  Isn't 
Heather  the  best  honey-flower  ?  and  these  hill-tops  are 
covered  with  Heather." 

"We  go  to  the  heather  every  day.  Our  honey  is 
nearly  all  Heather-honey,"  the  Bee  declared,  with  pardon- 
able pride.  "  But  we  can't  neglect  the  other  flowers 
entirely.  If  we  did,  the  consequences  for  them  would 
be  worse  than  for  us."  He  was  now  on  his  own  subject 
and  talked  almost  with  readiness. 

"  The  Foxgloves  wouldn't  mind  if  you  neglected  them 
a  bit,"  hinted  the  English  Elf ;  and  that  remark  showed 
how  little  he  understood  the  Foxglove  Fairies. 


AWAY !  87 

"  They  are  ignorant,"  said  the  Bee  loftily,  but  without 
resentment.  "  All  creatures  are  ignorant  who  do  as  they 
please.  Now  -we " 

"  Are  wise  ?  "  suggested  Rose  Red. 

"  We  are  workers,  at  least,"  said  the  Bee-  "  We  live 
under  discipline,  and  we  have  an  organised  Govern- 
ment." 

"  The  Fairies  say  you  never  enjoy  anything,"  said  Rose 
Red.  "Is  it  the  organised  Government  that  prevents 
you  ?  It  might  be  reformed,  you  know." 

The  Bee  was  silent  from  bewilderment.  He  would  as 
soon  have  thought  of  reforming  the  course  of  the  sun,  as 
of  reforming  the  government  of  Bees.  He  began  to 
think  this  strange  Fairy  was  rather  profane.  But  he  saw 
no  reason  why  profane  hands  should  not  clear  the  cob- 
web from  his  wings,  so  he  remained  quiet,  while  Rose 
Red  brushed  away. 

"  Don't  you  think  that  you  could  dispense  with  visiting 
the  Foxglove  bells  for  honey  ?  "  the  Elf  inquired  suddenly, 
seized  with  an  idea  that  it  would  be  a  great  thing  if  he,  a 
foreigner,  could  bring  about  a  truce  between  those 
hereditary  foes,  the  Bees  and  the  Foxglove  Fairies. 
But— 

"  Certainly  not,"  the  Bee  replied,  with  most  discouraging 
decision. 


S8  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

He  was  now  so  far  free  that  he  could  work  one  wing 
a  little,  and  shift  his  feet  about.  But  Rose  Red  was  not 
in  a  hurry  to  release  the  other  wing. 

"  I  think  I  can  show  you  that  it  would  be  much  to 
your  advantage,"  he  began,  "to  compromise " 

But  the  Bee  made  a  violent  effort  to  leave  the  ground, 
rose  a  little  way,  and  came  down  again  with  a  thud,  his  legs 
in  the  air.  It  was  extraordinary  how  he  contrived  in  any 
position  to  keep  safe  every  grain  of  his  precious  load. 
Rose  Red,  being  a  good-natured  Elf,  sympathised  with 
his  desperate  hurry  to  be  at  work  again.  He  also  re- 
flected that  this  Bee  was  not  in  any  case  a  very  promising 
subject  for  diplomacy. 

"  I  think  you'll  find  yourself  able  to  fly  now,"  he  said, 
removing  the  last  shred  of  cobweb  from  the  Bee's  left 
wing.  "  Don't  let  me  detain  you  if  you  are  anxious 
to  go." 

The  Bee  had  not  the  least  intention  of  letting  himself 
be  detained.  He  was  an  insect  with  one  idea,  and  had 
no  time  to  spare.  His  good-bye,  if  he  said  it,  was  lost 
in  the  buzz  of  departure. 

Rose  Red  stood  watching  him  down  the  hill,  and  before 
the  Bee  was  out  of  sight,  for  he  flew  slowly  and  heavily 
with  his  double  load,  the  English  Elf  was  revolving  a  new 
idea  in  that  active  brain  of  his.  It  made  him  shake  his 


AWAY !  89 

head  a  good  deal,  and  for  a  short  time  he  wore  a  look  of 
compunction ;  but  this  was  lost  in  the  pleasure  of  taking 
a  firm  resolution.  There  was  nothing  in  the  world  the 
English  Elf  enjoyed  more  than  taking  a  resolution,  unless 
indeed  it  were  acting  upon  it ;  and  when  he  might 
reasonably  expect  a  good  deal  of  opposition  to  his  action. 
That  added  the  last  charm  to  the  situation.  Of  course 
he  went  back  no  more  to  his  green  nest  in  the  Wood- 
ruff. 

"  I  must  find  Trefoil,"  he  said. 

And  he  opened  his  wings  and  flew  down  the  hill,  as 
the  Bee  had  flown  before  him. 

Trefoil  had  really  no  concern  at  all  in  the  matter,  but 
the  English  Elf  had  a  liking  for  Trefoil,  and  the  way  he 
showed  his  liking  was  to  tell  him  of  all  the  faults  and 
failings  he  observed  in  the  general  Irish  constitution  of 
things,  and  to  hold  Trefoil  responsible  for  them.  Re- 
sponsibility sat  easily  on  that  green  Fairy,  however.  He 
did  not  make  light  of  the  Elf's  complaints ;  he  received 
them  all  with  a  grave  and  sympathetic  face,  while  he  was 
thinking  of  something  else.  He  said, 

"  Isn't  it  a  pity  now  ?  "     Or, 

"  Sure,  what  can  we  do  at  all  ?  " 

with  so  much  feeling  in  his  voice  that  the  Elf  was  con- 
vinced he  had  a  spark  of  the  true  reforming  spirit  some- 


90  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

where  in  the  depths  of  his  nature.     He  intended  to  do 
his  very  best  to  kindle  that  spark. 

But  it  rather  interfered  with  his  plans  that  he  could 
not  find  Trefoil  anywhere  on  this  particular  afternoon. 
He  searched  through  most  of  their  familiar  haunts,  in 
places  where  the  shadows  fell  from  the  old  thorn-trees, 
and  stretched  along  the  grass ;  in  places  where  flag-lilies 
grew  beside  the  running  water,  and  butterflies  flickered 
up  and  down  the  deep  meadow  beyond,  among  the  blue 
and  crimson  flowers.  He  searched  a  particular  slope  on 
the  uplands,  where  rocks  lay  tumbled  together,  and  bright 
yellow  flowers  clung  to  them,  and  the  larks  had  a  fancy 
for  singing  just  overhead.  It  was  a  particular  resort  of 
Trefoil's,  and  when  Rose  Red  could  not  find  him  there, 
he  gave  up  the  search. 

"  I  suppose  he's  sleeping  somewhere,"  he  said,  with  all 
the  impatience  which  a  waking  Fairy  is  entitled  to  feel 
for  a  sleeping  one.  "  I  had  better  go  at  once  to  head- 
quarters." 

So  he  flew  directly  to  the  Foxglove  Camp,  and  for  the 
second  time  that  day  presented  himself  before  Seed  o' 
Valour. 

That  ingenious  warrior  was  seated  on  the  ground,  en- 
gaged in  plaiting  himself  a  sword-belt  out  of  white  bog- 
cotton.  He  had  a  large  pile  of  the  material  stowed  under 


AWAY !  91 

a  hollow  stone  to  keep  it  from  blowing  away.  From  this 
he  selected  the  silky  strands  with  great  care,  choosing 
always  those  that  had  the  most  silvery  gloss  on  them ; 
and  if  a  single  one  broke  in  the  plaiting,  he  threw  them 
all  away.  He  explained  his  reasons  to  his  friend  the 
Fieldmouse,  who  was  sitting  by  watching  him. 

"  I  remember,"  he  said,  "  that  a  great  Fairy  sage  once 
laid  it  down  as  an  axiom  that  '  no  plait  is  stronger  than 
its  weakest  strand.'  Now  I  am  working  on  that  principle, 
for  I  always  act  on  principle  when  I  have  no  practice  to 
guide  me." 

The  little  Fieldmouse  was  charmed  with  this  wisdom, 
and  was  eager  to  assist  him  by  holding  the  end  of  the 
plait  between  her  teeth.  It  proved  a  hindrance  to  con- 
versation, but  her  dark,  expressive  eyes  said  as  much  as 
she  wanted  at  any  time.  Only  when  Rose  Red  appeared 
suddenly  'on  the  scene  she  darted  away  immediately, 
being  the  shyest  of  creatures ;  and  Seed  o'  Valour  of 
course  darted  after  her,  for  the  sword-belt  still  united  them. 

"  You  must  excuse  me  a  moment,"  he  called  back  to 
Rose  Red.  And  in  the  politest  manner  he  escorted  the 
Fieldmouse  back  to  her  hole,  into  which  she  disappeared 
in  her  sudden  agitated  fashion,  even  while  he  stood  in- 
viting her  to  come  back  next  day,  that  he  might  make  a 
silken  white  collar  to  fit  her  neck. 


92  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

"She  must  have  been  really  frightened,"  he  said  to 
Rose  Red,  "  or  she  would  have  listened  to  that." 

"Very  likely,"  said  Rose  Red,  without  paying  the 
smallest  attention  to  the  incident.  "  I  have  come  back 
to  speak  to  you,  Seed  o'  Valour,  on  a  matter  of  some 
importance." 

"  Do  you  know  I  had  a  kind  of  notion  that  you  would, 
all  along  ?  "  said  Seed  o'  Valour,  laying  his  head  on  one 
side,  while  his  eyes  twinkled  hopefully.  It  was  all  he 
could  do  not  to  shout  out  "  Bats  ! " 

"  As  we  were  together  on  that  last  field-day  with  the 
Bees,  and  I  had  the  shelter  of  your  bell " 

"  While  it  lasted  ! " 

"  I  wish  to  inform  you,  before  any  other  Fairy,  that 
my  views  are  changed." 

"  Which  of  them  ?  "  asked  Seed  o'  Valour,  anxiously. 

"  I  had  some  conversation  with  a  Bee  this  morning," 
the  English  Elf  proceeded,  "  and  by  what  he  said  to  me, 
I  am  convinced  that  the  Bees  are  not  really  enemies  of 
the  Foxglove  Fairies.  For  a  long  time  they  have  been 
opposed  to  you  very  strongly;  but  that  was  simply 
through  force  of  circumstances,  and  owing  to  your  own 
misconception  of  their  motives.  If  you  could  but  be- 
lieve it,  your  interests  are  identical." 

He  paused  after  saying  this,   for  it  struck  him  as  a 


AWAY  I  93 

really  luminous  exposition  of  the  case,  and  he  wanted  to 
observe  its  effect  on  Seed  o'  Valour.  But  that  intelligent 
Fairy  only  gasped. 

"You  see,  you  have  no  use  for  the  honey  in  your  bells. 
Why  not  let  the  Bees  come  and  take  it  whenever  they 
like  ?  "  said  Rose  Red,  as  calmly  as  though  he  were  not 
proposing  to  revolutionize  the  order  of  centuries. 

"  Mother  o'  fortune ! "  was  Seed  o'  Valour's  reply. 
"  Didn't  I  tell  you  what  would  happen  if  you  went  on 
flying  about  in  the  sun  the  way  you  have  been  doing,  and 
neglecting  your  sleep?  You're  touched  in  the  head, 
fay ! — you're  sunstruck ! " 

The  English  Elf  started  back,  and  glared  at  Seed  o' 
Valour  as  if  he  could  have  slain  him  on  the  spot.  But 
he  met  such  a  look  of  lamenting  pity  that  his  rage  was 
turned  to  wonder,  and  he  stood  irresolute. 

"The  last  fay  I  remember  taken  like  yourself  was 
Harebell,"  said  the  Irish  Elf  pathetically.  "  He  was  so 
left  to  himself  that  he  wanted  to — never  mind  !  I  wouldn't 
let  him,  and  he  got  over  it.  Here — I'll  tell  you  what  to 
do.  Keep  your  head  cool,  and  stand  out  in  the  rain  as 
much  as  you  can,  and  [perhaps  you'll  get  over  it  too. 
Who  knows  ?  " 

It  was  impossible  to  be  angry  with  Seed  o'  Valour. 
Rose  Red  looked  at  him,  and  magnanimously  forgave  him. 


94  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

"Take  me  before  your  Commander-in-Qhief  now, 
Seed  o'  Valour,  and  we'll  talk  about  my  cure  by  and  by," 
said  the  English  Elf  firmly. 

"  I  don't  want  to  cross  your  wishes  at  all,"  said  Seed  o' 
Valour,  reluctantly.  "I'll  take  you  whenever  you  like. 
But  don't  be  saying  rash  things  about  Bees  and  Foxgloves 
now,  before  the  Commander-in-Chief,  or  he'll  put  you 
under  arrest  as  sure  as  I'm  a  two-winged  Fairy  ! " 

After  this,  of  course  nothing  would  have  prevented  the 
English  Elf  from  getting  the  audience  he  wanted ;  and 
they  flew  off  together  to  the  south  side  of  the  Camp,  to 
find  out  whether  His  Honour  would  receive  them. 

His  Honour  the  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  Foxglove 
Fairies,  had  left  his  tent,  and  retired  to  a  shady  hollow 
under  the  bank  below,  where  he  was  giving  audience  to 
a  couple  of  his  most  distinguished  officers.  They  had 
just  exhibited  to  him  a  new  and  simple  device  of  their 
own  invention  for  firing  furze-seeds  out  of  a  split  stalk ; 
and  they  had  illustrated  its  value  by  triumphantly  flooring 
a  young  Frog,  who  had  ventured  out  of  his  native  ditch 
into  the  neighbourhood  of  His  Honour's  audience  haM. 

Rose  Red  arrived  in  time  to  hear  the  Commander-in- 
Chief  express  his  gratification  at  the  prompt  effect  of 
this  artillery  upon  the  Frog.  But  he  inquired  whether 
it  could  be  directed  with  equal  force  from  a  Foxglove  bell 


AWAY !  95 

opening  downwards  upon  an  enemy  whose  descent  was 
almost  invariably  from  above  ? 

"  Quite  impossible,"  said  the  officers. 

"Then,"  said  His  Honour,  "  I  must  defer  the  adoption 
of  your  invention  as  part  of  our  recognised  equipment 
until  you  have  remedied  that  trifling  defect  in  its  useful- 
ness. I  have  no  doubt  that  you  will  very  quickly  find 
means  to  do  so.  Accept  my  congratulations  on  the 
ingenuity  of  your  device." 

The  officers  saluted,  and  withdrew,  carrying  their 
artillery  with  them.  His  Honour  then  relaxed  some- 
thing of  the  martial  stiffness  of  his  attitude,  took  off  the 
plumed  cap  which  he  wore — the  only  outward  sign  of  his 
rank — and  handed  it  to  a  soldier  behind  him ;  then  seated 
himself  in  the  middle  of  a  tuft  of  Woodsorrel,  and  yawned. 

"  The  worst  of  these  clever,  mechanical  fellows  is,  that 
you  have  to  talk  to  them  in  a  proper  official  strain,  or 
they  would  think  you  wanting  in  respect  for  your  subor- 
dinates. I  can't  keep  it  up  for  a  whole  afternoon,  you 
know,  so  I  hope  no  one  is  going  to  think  himself 
insulted,  in  consequence." 

These  remarks  were  supposed  to  be  spoken  aside  to 
His  Honour's  most  intimate  friend  and  Second-in-Com- 
mand,  Highflyer.  But  of  course  they  were  heard  by  every 
one  in  the  audience-hall,  and  were  properly  appreciated. 


96  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

The  English  Elf,  who,  with  all  his  independence  of 
mind  had  a  natural  respect  for  constituted  authorities, 
stepped  forward  and  bowed  to  the  Commander. 

His  bow  was  his  only  introduction,  but  it  was  quite 
sufficient  for  that  experienced  officer. 

"  A  stranger  ?  "  said  His  Honour.  "  Then  take  preced- 
ence of  the  Fairies  present.  Let  me  know  your  business." 

"  I  am  Rose  Red,  from  England,"  said  the  Elf.  "  I 
come  to  you  to  propose  terms  of  peace,  or  at  least  a 
truce " 

"  But  our  relations  with  England  are  perfectly  friendly," 
said  His  Honour. 

It  was  the  first  time  he  had  heard  of  England  ;  but  of 
course  if  the  relations  between  the  countries  had  been 
otherwise  than  friendly,  he  must  have  known  it,  as  he 
said  to  himself. 

"I  did  not  mean  peace  with  England,  but  peace  between 
contending  parties  in  this  country,"  explained  the  Elf. 

There  was  a  silence  in  the  audience-hall,  as  if  the 
interview  had  become  suddenly  interesting. 

"And  you  have  been  sent,"  inquired  His  Honour, 
"by ?" 

"  I  am  not  sent  by  any  one,"  said  Rose  Red.  "  I  am 
a  thoroughly  impartial  Fairy,  and  I  offer  myself  as 
arbitrator  of  the  existing  disputes." 


AWAY !  97 

"  A  thoroughly  impartial  Fairy ! "  repeated  the  Com- 
mander-in-Chief  meditatively,  as  though  he  were  pon- 
dering this  new  idea.  "As  arbitrator "  but  he 

dropped  that  end  of  the  sentence,  for  he  had  no  notion 
what  arbitration  might  be.  "  Well,  I'm  entirely  obliged 
to  you,"  he  concluded,  as  the  safest  and  most  natural 
thing  to  say  when  a  Fairy  was  plainly  "  offering "  some- 
thing. 

"  With  your  permission  I  will  state  the  conditions  on 
which  I  think  a  perfect  understanding  may  be  restored 
between  yourselves  and  your  former  allies,"  said  Rose 
Red. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  our  '  former  allies '  ?  we  have 
lost  none,"  said  the  puzzled  Commander-in-Chief. 

"  I  mean  the  Bees,"  said  the  English  Elf. 

This  time  nobody  called  him  sunstruck.  The  Com- 
mander-in-Chief was  too  much  astonished  to  say  a  word, 
and  the  other  Fairies  were  too  much  in  awe  of  the 
Commander. 

But  Rose  Red,  who  did  not  care  in  the  least  about 
producing  a  sensation,  was  never  very  quick  to  see 
exactly  what  sensation  he  had  produced.  He  fancied 
this  was  the  silence  of  unprejudiced  attention,  and  he 
went  on  to  advance  the  claims  of  the  Bees,  and  to  con- 
demn the  hostilities  which  the  Fairies  had  practised 

H 


98  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

against  them,  in  open  and  undisguised  language.  Rose 
Red  was  not  an  eloquent  being,  but  the  two  things 
which  moved  him  more  strongly  than  any  were  working 
in  his  mind  at  this  moment;  injustice  to  others  and 
opposition  to  himself.  He  was  not  eloquent ;  his  words 
struck  at  all  the  Fairies  round  like  little  hard  bullets, 
instead  of  winding  them  in  soft  constraining  bands. 
The  Irish  Elves  were  immensely  surprised  when  the 
bullets  began  to  fly,  but  they  sustained  no  injuries. 
They  stood  one  and  all  behind  a  defence  which  served 
them  as  well  as  a  rampart  of  sandbags,  and  that  was 
their  own  soft  contempt  for  the  attack.  As  Rose  Red 
grew  indignant,  they  became  more  interested,  and  even 
inclined  to  cheer  him. 

"The  longer  I  stay  in  this  country,"  he  declared 
sternly,  "  the  less  I  can  understand  the  purposes  of  Irish 
Fairies.  They  seem  to  have  no  aims,  to  seek  no  gains, 
to  be  employed  only  in  different  kinds  of  idleness.  I 
am  told  of  a  race  of  Fairies  here  who  live  in  the  depths 
of  a  wood,  and  concern  themselves  with  nothing  except 
music.  I  have  met  other  sprites  who  assured  me  per- 
sonally that  their  only  occupation  was  to  catch  the 
shining  black  Beetles,  sit  on  their  backs,  and  race  them 
against  each  other.  When  I  asked  them  if  they  had  no 
other  aims,  they  replied  that  they  had  only  one — to 


AWAY !  99 

make  the  Beetles  swifter.  Now  the  Foxglove  Fairies 
seem  to  have  a  higher  order  of  intelligence " 

Oddly  enough,  this  was  the  only  remark  at  which  the 
Commander-in-Chief  showed  distinct  annoyance.  One 
of  the  Fairies  also  so  far  forgot  himself  as  to  laugh. 
Rose  Red  went  on,  disregarding — 

"  But  what  use  do  the  Foxglove  Fairies  make  of  their 
intelligence  ?  Only  to  carry  on  a  senseless  war  of  ob- 
struction against  the  Bees.  No  one  can  tell  me  when 
this  fruitless  strife  began.  No  one  can  tell  me  of  a  time 
when  Fairies  had  any  interest  in  preserving  honey 
against  the  attacks  of  industrious  Bees.  On  the  contrary 
it  is  evident  that  the  honey  exists  for  the  benefit  of  the 
Bees,  as  plainly  as  the  flower  exists  for  the  benefit  of  the 
Fairy.  Let  us  restore  things  to  their  natural  footing. 
Make  peace  with  the  Bees.  Let  them  visit  your  bells  as 
often  as  they  desire.  For  as  long  as  there  is  a  Foxglove 
standing,  be  sure  the  Bees  will  come  to  it,  whether  you 
permit  them  or  not.  And  I,  for  one,  am  of  opinion 
that  they  are  perfectly  right." 

He  stopped — because  he  had  no  more  to  say.  It  has 
already  been  remarked  that  Rose  Red  was  not  an 
orator. 

His  Honour  the  Commander-in-Chief  rose  and 
stretched  out  his  hand  for  his  plumed  cap,  because  he 

H    2 


ioo  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

would  not  have  chosen  to  answer  even  a  mad  foreigner 
unceremoniously.  But  before  he  could  put  the  cap 
on  his  head,  a  little  Fairy  scout  came  flying  in,  scat- 
tered the  Elves  before  him,  saluted  His  Honour,  and 
announced, 

"  The  Bees  are  over  the  hill ! " 

Then  he  turned  and  flew  for  his  post;  the  other 
Fairies  streaming  away  after  him,  as  if  a  wind  had  blown 
them  out. 

"  Come  with  me !  come  on ! "  cried  Seed  o'  Valour, 
catching  the  English  Elf  round  the  neck. 

"  Hold  off!     I'm  not  going  with  you,"  said  the  Elf. 

"  You  are,  but  you  are,"  the  Foxglove  Fairy  insisted, 
clinging  to  his  former  comrade. 

"  I'll  join  the  Bees,"  said  Rose  Red. 

And  they  rose  in  the  air  together,  still  struggling,  and 
flew  directly  against  the  Commander-in-Chief,  who  was 
hurrying  away  like  the  rest. 

"  What's  that  ?  '  join  the  Bees  ? ' "  said  His  Honour, 
sharply.  "  You'll  not  get  the  chance.  Seed  o'  Valour, 
let  him  go,  and  fly  to  your  post." 

Seed  o'  Valour  flew  away  with  a  sad  little  cry  for  his 
lost  comrade. 

"  Robin  and  Redwing ! "  called  the  Commander,  "  take 
this  fay  prisoner.  Make  him  fast  for  the  present,  and 


AWAY  !  101 

bring  him  before  me  when  the  attack  is  over.     Set  a 
watch." 

His  Honour  hurried  by.  The  two  Fairies  called  Robin 
and  Redwing  seized  the  English  Elf  and  carried  him 
off.  His  struggles  were  short,  for  they  were  two  to  one, 
and  quite  determined  not  to  be  detained  long.  Having 
fastened  his  hands  behind  his  back,  they  tied  him  firmly 
to  the  stem  of  a  stiff-growing  bracken,  and  whistled  up 
two  black  Spiders  to  watch  him.  They  threatened  the 
Spiders  with  dire  things  if  they  should  fail  to  report  the 
prisoner's  least  attempt  to  escape,  and  then  they  flew  off 
as  fast  as  their  wings  could  carry  them,  to  join  battle  with 
the  Bees.  Rose  Red  was  left  in  his  seclusion  under  the 
bracken,  to  consider  himself. 

Truly,  he  had  never  been  in  a  worse  position,  and  the 
more  he  considered  it,  the  less  he  could  see  his  way  out. 
He  was  defenceless,  friendless,  a  prisoner,  and  in  a  foreign 
land.  It  was  so  hopeless,  so  disastrous,  that  he  felt  his 
long-lost  dignity  return,  and  his  spirit  rise  to  the  occasion, 
as  the  spirit  of  an  English  Elf  is  wont  to  do  when  he 
finds  himself  in  a  scrape  serious  enough  to  merit 
fortitude. 

First  he  tugged  at  the  tight  green  withes  that  bound 
him,  only  to  assure  himself  that  they  were  too  cunningly 
tied  to  give  way.  But  his  movement  had  alarmed  the  two 


102  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

black  Spiders  on  watch,  and  they  ran  at  him  one  from 
each  side  with  alacrity  in  all  their  legs,  so  that  he  in- 
stantly became  quiet  again,  for  fear  they  should  run  in 
another  direction  and  recall  the  Fairies. 

Then  the  Spiders  began  consulting,  with  their  dull 
malignant  eyes  upon  him.  They  could  not  get  over  their 
natural  fear  of  a  Fairy,  though  they  saw  him  tied  and 
bound  for  the  present.  Spiders  are  slaves  by  nature ; 
they  are  greedy  and  cunning,  yet  their  fears  are  always 
getting  the  better  of  their  desires.  This  pair  were  like 
the  rest,  spiteful  but  frightened  ;  not  too  much  frightened, 
however,  to  recollect  that  they  must  propitiate  Robin  and 
Redwing,  who  were  free  Fairies,  at  the  expense  of  Rose 
Red,  who  was  a  prisoned  Fairy.  Accordingly,  while  one 
Spider  remained  below  curled  up  among  his  legs  and 
keeping  watch,  the  other  ran  up  the  bracken  stem,  and 
swinging  himself  downwards  from  a  green  frond  just  over 
the  Elf  s  head,  he  commenced  to  spin  a  complicated  web 
in  the  middle  of  which  the  Elf  very  soon  found  himself 
like  a  netted  fly,  with  the  Spider's  strands  stretching  out 
from  every  part  of  his  person  towards  the  surrounding 
objects.  When  he  had  finished  his  web,  the  Spider  came 
down  again,  and  surveyed  it  with  the  greatest  satisfaction 
from  below.  It  mattered  not  at  all  to  his  mind  that 
Rose  Red,  if  freed  from  his  other  bonds,  could  have 


AWAY !  103 

flown  right  out  of  the  web  with  one  stroke  of  his  wings. 
The  Fairy  looked  as  if  he  were  a  prisoner  in  the  mesh, 
and  so  the  Spider  was  satisfied. 

Strange  to  say,  Rose  Red  was  also  proportionately 
annoyed.  He  felt  the  cobweb,  light  though  it  was,  as  a 
heavy  aggravation  of  his  woes.  The  heroic  calm  deserted 
him,  and  he  fell  into  a  rage.  It  made  the  Spiders 
tremble  to  see  him,  for  they  had  never  been  so  close  to  a 
Fairy  in  a  rage  before,  and  judging  by  their  knowledge  of 
the  habits  of  the  race,  it  seemed  unlikely  that  this  Fairy 
would  remain  tied  to  a  bracken  stem  for  ever.  In  the 
event  of  his  getting  loose  now,  they  felt  as  if  all  their 
legs  would  be  insufficient  for  safety. 

There  was  a  stir  in  the  air  above — no  more  than  a 
breath.  The  grasses  shook  and  waved  apart,  and  the 
Spiders  shrank  away  from  this  new-comer.  Rose  Red 
lifted  his  distracted  gaze,  and  there  stood  the  slender 
Speedwell,  gazing  at  him  with  her  friendly  eyes. 

"  What  is  this  ?  "  she  asked. 

But  he  could  not  answer.  He  had  sought  for  her,  and 
longed  to  see  her,  when  he  was  proud  and  free.  She 
came  when  he  was  wretched  and  a  prisoner,  and  he 
turned  away  his  head.  It  was  worse  than  being  con-, 
quered  that  this  Fairy  maiden  should  see  him  conquered. 

Perhaps  the  gentle  Speedwell  understood  it  all,  for  .her 


104  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

wise  blue  eyes  saw  into  many  things,  and  it  may  have 
been  because  she  was  content  to  be  helpful  without 
understanding  that  so  many  things  were  clear  to  her. 
At  present  it  was  quite  evident  that  there  was  no  one  to 
help  her  unfortunate  friend. 

She  broke  into  the  middle  of  the  web  first  and  pulled 
it  to  pieces.  That  alarmed  the  black  Spiders,  and  they 
rolled  up  at  once,  and  pretended  to  be  dead,  which  is 
their  great  resource  in  emergencies.  Then  Speedwell 
began  to  untie  the  knots  in  the  green,  thin  withes  that 
bound  the  English  Elf,  and  they  gave  way  one  by  one. 
At  this  sight  the  Spiders  thought  it  time  to  breathe  again ; 
and  before  the  English  Elf  was  quite  free,  they  had 
decided  that  it  would  be  better  to  live  in  quite  a  distant 
part  of  the  country,  and  were  far  on  their  way  there, 
palpitating.  They  never  again  kept  watch  over  other 
people's  prisoners. 

But  the  English  Elf  and  Speedwell  were  travelling,  if 
the  Spiders  had  only  known  it,  in  quite  an  opposite  direc- 
tion. The  instincts  of  the  wise  are  even  more  mysterious 
than  the  impulses  of  the  foolish,  and  it  would  be  im- 
possible to  say  why  Speedwell  desired  to  fly  with  Rose 
Red  as  far  as  possible  from  the  Foxglove  Camp,  and  to 
bring  him  to  a  place  within  sound  of  the  sea.  He 
followed  her  without  a  question.  Either  his  usual 


AWAY !  105 

decision  of  mind  had  deserted  him,  or  else  it  had  impelled 
him  to  leave  decisions  with  Speedwell — a  singular  conclu- 
sion for  this  independent  Elf. 

They  flew  eastwards.  There  was  no  wind,  and  the 
sun  was  almost  down.  It  was  towards  the  end  of  the 
long  summer  day  when  these  two  silent  Fairies  dropped 
from  the  air  to  the  earth  in  a  place  within  sound  of  the 
sea.  The  sea-waves  were  breaking  over  the  rocks  down 
below,  and  the  gray  rocks  rose  everywhere  through 
the  grass  where  they  rested ;  short  thick  grass  shorn 
by  the  sea  winds,  and  sprinkled  with  the  flowers 
that  love  the  sea,  with  wreaths  of  silver  weed  and 
yellow  starry  stone -crops,  and  tufts  of  sea-pinks 
wearing  their  rosy  crowns  in  the  face  of  all  the  winds 
that  blow.  They  were  all  brave  flowers,  and  the 
English  Elf  found  himself  at  home  in  this  wild 
sea-garden. 

"  Speedwell,"  he  said,  "  I  looked  for  you  and  I  never 
could  find  you  after  that  night.  Are  you  going  to  vanish 
away  again  in  a  moment  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  Speedwell ;  "  I  shall  stay  here  while 
you  want  me.  But  what  have  you  been  doing  amongst 
all  the  other  Fairies  ?  " 

"  I  have  disagreed  with  them  all,"  said  the  Elf 
distinctly. 


106  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

"  It  is  only  that  you  have  misunderstood  each  other," 
said  Speedwell. 

"  That's  impossible,"  the  Elf  replied.  "  I  have  explained 
myself  so  often  and  clearly,  believe  me." 

"  I  can  believe  you,"  she  said  ;  and  he  wondered  why 
she  laughed.  "  Did  they  ever  explain  themselves  to  you, 
Rose  Red  ?  " 

"  No,  I  can't  say  they  did,"  said  the  Elf.  "  You  can't 
call  it  an  explanation  to  say  that  a  thing  '  has  always 
been  that  way,  just ; '  or  that  a  thing  '  would  be  a  heap 
more  bother  any  other  way.'  I  don't  think  your  Irish 
Elves  have  much  idea  of  the  nature  of  an  explanation." 

"  I  don't  think  we  have,"  said  Speedwell,  reflectively. 
"  You  see,  we  seldom  ask  one  ourselves.  We  understand 
things  so  much  better  when  they  are  not  explained." 

Pure  surprise  at  this  remark  prevented  the  English  Elf 
from  asking  her  at  once  to  explain  what  it  meant.  And 
Speedwell  continued, 

"  You  seem  to  have  fallen  into  some  confusion  your- 
self between  the  Bees  and  the  Foxglove  Fairies." 

"  Not  at  all  !"  said  Rose  Red  promptly.  "  I  thought 
the  Bees  were  robbers,  so  I  fought  for  the  Foxglove  Fairies 
one  day.  Then  I  found  that  the  Bees  were  honest 
workers,  unjustly  hindered  by  the  Fairies.  So  I  wanted 
to  fight  for  the  Bees ;  but  the  Fairies  made  me  prisoner, 


AWAY !  107 

I'll  make  them  sorry  for  that  trick  one  day.     They  shall 
learn  they  were  wrong." 

"Always  wrong,"  smiled  the  Speedwell. 

"And  I  am  right.     You  know  it ! "  insisted  Rose  Red. 

"  Nearly  right,"  sighed  the  Speedwell. 

"  Then  why  are  you  not  pleased  with  me  ?  "  said  the 
blunt  English  Elf. 

"  I  am  thinking  what  sad  trouble  you  will  make  in 
this  country,  to  prove  you  were  right."  And  Speedwell 
shook  her  head  sorrowfully,  and  her  blue  eyes  were 
clouded. 

"  I  wish  I  had  never  come  here.  I  wish  I  were  in 
England  now,"  said  the  Elf;  and  he  grew  sad  himself 
with  longing. 

"lean  grant  your  wish,"  said  the  blue-eyed  Fairy, 
with  her  eyes  upon  him,  and  she  saw  him  start  with  joy. 

Then  she  rose,  and  called  into  the  air,  and  called 
again. 

There  were  Swallows  in  that  place  by  the  sea,  flying  in 
wild  circles  after  each  other,  and  grazing  the  ground 
with  their  wings.  One  of  these  birds,  when  he  heard 
her  voice,  turned  in  the  air  as  only  a  Swallow  can  turn, 
with  one  tilt  of  his  wings,  and  dashed  down  to  her 
feet. 

"  My    Swallow !    my    Sailor ! "    said  the  Speedwell. 


io8  THE  ELF-ERRANT 

"  Will  you  go  on  a  voyage  for  me  before  the  autumn 
comes  this  year  ?  Will  you  go  now  ?  " 

"Any  time,"  said  the  Swallow,  in  his  short,  sweet 
pipe. 

"  There  is  a  country  of  England  ;  I  do  not  know  how 
far  away.  Will  you  fly  there  ?  " 

"  Anywhere,"  said  the  Swallow. 

"  The  English  Elf  must  go  back  to  his  country,  and 
you  must  carry  him  over  the  sea  between  your  dark- blue 
wings.  Will  you  do  this  for  me  ?  " 

"  Anything,"  piped  the  Swallow. 

He  stooped  low,  with  his  soft  breast  to  the  ground, 
and  his  long  wings  trailed  upon  the  grass.  He  was 
ready. 

"  Now ! "  said  Speedwell  to  the  English  Elf. 

He  did  not  hear.  He  looked  towards  the  land  he 
was  leaving,  up  the  green  glen  lying  quiet  between  its 
hills,  filled  with  clear  sunlight,  fairy-haunted.  He  was 
going  where  he  would  never  see  them  again — the  bright, 
little,  tender,  merry,  vexatious  Irish  Fairies,  whose  ways 
had  worried  him  so ! — Trefoil,  Seed  o'  Valour,  Broom, 
and  Robin,  and  Redwing,  Fly-by-Night,  and  Peep  o' 
Day. 

"Speedwell,  let  me  stay,"  he  sighed;  "only  another 
day." 


AWAY !  109 

Speedwell  pointed  eastward.  There  lay  the  sea,  blue 
and  broad,  stretching  out  to  the  sky;  an  empty  air 
between  them ;  no  land  in  sight.  But  the  voice  of  his 
country  called  to  him  in  all  the  living  waves,  and  his 
heart  went  back  to  England. 

One  step  and  he  had  thrown  himself  between  the 
Swallow's  wings.  One  stroke  of  the  long  wings,  and 
Rose  Red  was  so  high  in  air  that  he  could  not  see  the 
blue  of  Speedwell's  eyes. 

"Speedwell,"  he  called  to  her,  "tell  the  Fairies— I 
love  them." 

And  the  Swallow  darted  out  across  the  sea. 


THE   END. 


RICHARD  CLAY  AND  SONS,  LIMITED.   LONDON  AND  BUNGAY. 

ro 

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.vf. 


_ 

University  Of  California,  Los  Angeles 


L  007  394  067  8 


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